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APPLE-BLOSSOMS 



Hattie Tyng Griswold. 



Our whitest pearl we never find ; 

Our ripest fruit we never reach ; 
The flowering moments of the mind 

Drop half their petals in our speech. 
These are my blossoms ; if they wear 

One streak of morn or evening's glow, 
Accept them ; but to me more fair 

The buds of song that never blow/' 

— O. W. HOLMES. 



CHICAGO: 

JANSEN, McCLURG 



CO. 



1878. 




fir* 



COPYRIGHT. 

JANSEN, McCLURG & CO. 

A. D. 1877. 



LEG A I, NEWS CO., 
STF.r.EOTYrERS AND PRINTERS. 



TO 
KICHAKD, and FLORENCE, ADA, and EDITH, 

THE LITTLE ONES OF MY HOME AND 

HEART, 

I INSCRIBE THESE VERSES. 

TO THE THEEE WHO ARE STILL WITH ME 

HERE, 

1 HO"B THEY MAY SOMETIME GIVE HELP OR PLEASURE. 

TO THE LITTLE ONE WHO IS 
BEYOND, 

THEY ARE SUCH A TL'IBUTE AS WE LAY UPON A GRAVE— 
FADING, PLEETING. BUT LOVE-LADEN 

APPLE-BLC 3S0MS. 



CONTENTS 



. PAGE 

Under the Daisies, ---._-.-__ XI 

Three Kisses, ----------- I2 

My Darling, ------------ I4 

Three in One, ----------- 15 

An Enchanted Summer, --------- jg 

Balm, ------------- 24 

The Nun's Vigil, 25 

On the Heights, ---------- 29 

Unachieved, ------------ 30 

The Battle of the Fire, ---------. 32 

"Peaceful Days, ------------ 34 

Bandit and Priest, --------- .. - 35 

Too Late, ------------- 39 

Soul-Saving, ------------ 41 

Regret, ------------- 42 

Little Mollie, ------------ 44 

The Midnight Watch, 40 

Father Marquette, .__.---_-- 4y 

Dead, ' 53 

Little Billy, 55 

The Missing Ship, ---- 58 

Charles Dickens, _ 6o 

A Mood, ----- 62 

To a Friend of the Old Time, -------- 63 

Parker, -------- 64 

L'nder the Locusts, ---1------ 67 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Drifting Apart, ----------- 68 

Temptation, ------------ 71 

Crosses, --------.---- 76 

What Might Have Been, .--. 7 3 

Beneath the Buttercups, ---------- 79 

From Shore to Shore, ---------- 81 

Marches, ------------- 82 

Song, -------- _ - - - , - 87 

Watchwords, ------------ 89 

Dread, ------------- 90 

The Later Love, -------- ---93 

May, ------------- 95 

Into the Shadows, ----------- 97 

To Robert Collyer, _-_-.____-•_ 99 

Contrast, ------------- 102 

Deliverance, ------------ 103 

Germany Wins, ------------ 107 

Ruins, --.-----._--*» io 8 

Midnight, ------------- no 

The Bishop Deposed, ---------- 113 

Rest, 116 

Waiting, ------------- 117 

Lost and Found, ----------- n8 

Low Tide, ------------ z? o 

By Their Fruits, ----------- 121 

A Broken Life, ----------- 124 

The Turning of the Bridge, - - - - - - - - 126 

The Voice of One of Little Faith, 128 

Unloved, -------- I3I 

Luigi's Confession, ----------- 133 

The Serenaders, ------------ 135 

Sewing for Bread, -.--------. 137 

Works, -141 



CONTENTS. 



7 



PAGE 

My Heaven, --..-..-.-... I4 j 

The Cry of the Mothers, ---------- 144 

The Golden Light, --.-.--.._. I4 8 

Charlotte Bronte, - • - ... - . . . . IS . 



Consolation, 



152 



The Nation's Dead, ------ I54 

Ethel's Questions, ........... I5 6 

Uenedicite, ------------ jtjS 

Thought and Speech, ----------- 163 

Commonplace,- ---.----._.. jfr- 

The Vigil 167 

Shipwreck, ------------ 360 

The Homeless Children - - - - - - - - - - 171 

Deathless, ------.------ ij^ 

The Missal of Life, -------- --174 

Divided, ------------- 175 

A Woman's Eyes, ----------- 182 

Phantoms, ------ !8 4 

Fate, 186 

Irma's Fate, ------ i83 

The Phantom Battle of Utrecht, --------189 

Memory's Bells ----------- 194 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



UNDER THE DAISIES. 

I have just been learning the lesson of life — 

The sad, sad lesson of loving, 
And all of its power for pleasure or pain 

Been slowly, sadly proving ; 
And all that is left of the bright, bright dream, 

With its thousand brilliant phases, 
Is a handful of dust in a coffin hid — 

A coffin under the daisies: 

The beautiful, beautiful daisies, 

The snowy, snowy daisies. 

And thus forever throughout the world, 

Is love a sorrow proving ; 
There's many a sad, sad thing in life, 

But the saddest of all is loving. 
Life often divides far wider than death, 

Stern fortune the hiffh wall raises ; 



12 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But better far than two hearts estranged, 
Is a low grave starred with daisies: 
The beautiful, beautiful daisies, 
The snowy, snowy daisies. 

And so I am glad that we lived as we did, 
Through the summer of love together, 

And that one of us, wearied, lay down to. rest, 
Ere the coming of winter weather; 

For the sadness of love is love grown cold, 
And 't is one of its surest phases; 

So I bless my God, with a breaking heart, 
For that grave enstarre'd with daisies: 
The beautiful, beautiful daisies, 
The snowy, snowy daisies. 



THREE KISSES. 

I have tliree kisses in my life, 
So sweet and sacred unto me, 

That now, till death-dews on them rest, 
My lips shall ever kissless be. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 13 

One kiss was given in childhood's hour, 

By one who never gave another; 
Through life and death I still shall feel 

That last kiss of my mother. 

The next kiss burned my lips for years; 

For years my wild heart reeled in bliss, 
At every memory of that hour 

When my lips felt young love's first kiss. 

The last kiss of the sacred three, 

Had all the woe which e'er can move 

The heart of woman; it was pressed 
Upon the dead lips of my love. 

When lips have felt the dying kiss, 

And felt the kiss of burning love, 
And kissed the dead, then nevermore 

In kissing should they think to move. 



14 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



MY BARLING. 

How can I mourn for a little one dead, 
When I gaze on this world of weeping? 

Far better to smile with a deep content, 
O'er a baby quietly sleeping, 

O'er a little one safe from all that can harm, 
Safe, and quietly sleeping. 

The sun comes up, and the sun goes down 

On sorrow, and sin., and aching, 
And to all the evil that's in the world, 

My darling will know no waking; 
He is wrapped in that dream of sweetness and calm 

That will know no cruel waking. 

My heart grows sick and faint with the thought 
Of the great world's burden of sinning; 

I am glad, I am glad that in evil and wrong 
My darling will make no beginning; 

He is safe in his soft and mossy bed, 

From the blight and the pang of sinning. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 15 

Then mourn no more for a little one dead, 
Fond heart worn out with thy weeping; 
Far better to smile with a deep content, 

O'er a baby quietly sleeping; 
He is safe, he is safe, from all that is sad, 

Safe, and quietly sleeping. 



THREE IN ONE. 

In the midst of a forest, old and dim, 
In a somber castle stern and strong, 

Three valiant knights carousing sat, 
In wassail wild, and loud, and long. 

Unmindful of the midnight bell, 
As loud it struck high in the tower, 

Unmindful of the storm that roared 
And raged without in fearful power. 

For here, in festive gayety, 
Upon each holy Easter night, 

They had a vow to meet, nor sleep 
Till dawned the morning's rosy light. 



16 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And mad and madder grew the mirth, 
And wild and wilder rose the song, 

Till up the chimney's ample throat, 
It rose in volume huge and strong. 

Oh, gay and gallant was the knight 
Of Eddesdale, and fierce and proud; 

But now his thoughts were but of mirth, 
He roared a lusty stave, and loud. ' 

And Fritz of Fogelsang was there, 
Who neither fear nor pity knew; 

But now his warlike mien was gone, 
Loud and more loud his laughter" grew. 

And that dark knight Sir John of Gaunt, 
The pick. and flower of chivalry, 

Forgot his prowess and his fame, 
And steeped his soul in revelry. 

But as the clocks were striking one, 
A step was heard upon the stair — 

Not loud, but with a sound that made 
Them start and mutter each a prayer. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 17 

Three half-uplifted glasses fell, 
And crushed to atoms on the floor, 

Ere yet the step approached and rang 
A startling summons at the door. 

And not a voice of gallant knight 

Had strength to bid it enter in, 
For a cold chill struck through the door, 

That froze the very blood within. 

But wide now swung the bolted door, 
And in a Presence seemed to glide, 

Startling and solemn, not of earth, 
Nor seeming of the grave a bride. 

Flame-like and luminous the eyes 

That sought each one with steady glare, 

Whiter than death the hand that passed 
Before each face and touched the hair. 

Gone in an instant as it came, 

But to the floor fell prone each knight, 

While one loud shriek rang out, made up 
Of all that can the soul affright. 



2 



18 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But as each one recovered speech, 
He crossed himself and said a prayer, 

" 'Twas my lost love," said Eddesdale, 
"Whose heart I broke — the Lady Clare!" 

" Nay, nay," said Fritz of Fogelsang, 
" It was that rival knight I slew 

While all unarmed — so fierce my hate, 
And whose dark fate no soul e'er knew!" 

And last of all spake John of Gaunt: 
" It was my brother young and fair," 

Whose death I caused, that I might be 
Of all our house the rightful heir!" 

What was it? That I cannot tell; 

Of little wisdom I make boast; 
But I might guess that then, as now, 

Each guilty soul saw its own ghost! 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 19 



AN ENCHANTED SUMMER, 

That summer was divinely fair, 

Beneath the skies of Oberland, 
And in the shadow of Jungfrau, 

It seemed a cool and silent land. 
We wandered widely day by day, 

Drinking the wine of mountain air, 
And having not a thought beyond 

The thought, that life and love were fair. 
No shadow threw its length before 

From coming hours of care and pain, 
No thought that when we parted there, 

We parted not to meet again. 

Oft-times we wandered slow along 

The sweet and flowery banks of Aar, 
And watched the sunlight lingering on 

The mountain peaks so faint and far. 
Oft-times we climbed the towering heights, 

To watch the sunlight down below 
Laying its golden mantle on 

The serried pine trees, row on row; 



20 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Oft-times we wandered home at eve, 
In the cool shadows' dusky gloom, 

While sweet, faint odors rose around, 
From thickets set with brake and broom. 

And sometimes in the stilly nights, 

Beneath the bower of creeping vines, 
We sat and watched the moonlight flood 

The Oberland with golden lines; 
And waked the echoes of the night, 

With soft and tender notes of song, 
Floating along the forest's edge 

And the great mountain sides along :„ 
Old songs that each had learned afar 

Across the foamy ocean's space, 
Recalling still in that strange land 

Many an old familiar face. 

Oh, glowing eves ! oh, golden nights ! 

Oh, music of those distant days ! 
There is no power in time or space 

To dim the splendor of those rays. 
Still o'er me shines the same bright moon 

That shone upon those summer nights : 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 21 

Still sound adown the aisles of time 
The echoes from the Jungfrau heights ; 

Still odors faint from brake and broom 
Linger beside each copse and hedge, 

And still the tender edelweiss 
I search for on each rocky ledge. 

It was a summer of delights, 

Of such rare sweetness as is set 
Within the faintly-scented cup 

Of some sweet April violet. 
A coy and half-uncertain bliss 

To which we never gave a name, 
Which, had we fitted it with words, 

Would nevermore have seemed the same. 
Oh, lingering touch of swift-clasped hands 

To greet the morn and speed the night, 
More palpable caress could ne'er 

Have lived so long to give delight. 

We break th' enchantment of our lives 
By stretching forth our hands to grasp; 

Better the sweetness half-defined 
We seek, but seek in vain, to clasp. 



22 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Some flowers there are of tender growth 

That bloom in brilliance on the stalk, 
But if we would possess, we strew 

With wilted petals all the walk. 
Better the coy and tender grace 

Of love we never know as such, 
Than that we strain unto our breasts 

And crush the life from with our touch. 

But autumn hours came on apace, 

Blazed once again the burning bush, 
And God walked forth with awful pomp 

Through the dim forest's holy hush. r _ 
The splendor of the solemn hills 

Came down upon our hearts like prayer, 
Silent, half sad, we walked the aisles 

Of old cathedral woods so fair, 
And caught afar the approaching tread 

Of that dull day which hastened on, 
When from the dusky Oberland 

And Jungfrau shades we must be gone. 

The morning came, we stood half sad, 
Half happy at the coming change; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

I held her hand and let my eye 

Once more across her fair face range. 
Then with a gentle touch I pressed 

My first, last kiss upon her brow, 
And said: "The coming time may bid 

Me say, what best is unsaid now." 
And then I glided down the walk 

Nor turned until my feet were far, 
Then saw her fair face gleaming there 

As pure and perfect as a star. 

And years, oh, many have gone by, 

Since that dim time, misty and old, 
But nevermore our feet have trod 

That old-time walk, nor lips have told 
Ever again the half-told tale. 

I doubt not it is better so, 
Since now the sweetness still is ours, 

And bright and brighter will it grow, 
Without a chance or change to dim, 

Through all the years, sweet, undefined, 
The joy that never was — that joy — 

Dearest, most precious to the mind. 



24 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



BALM. 

Dreamily drifting downward, 

The apple-blossoms come, 
In the flush of the golden evening, 

As the little birds fly home. 
Softly, softly falling, 

Falling to the ground, 
The air is pink with the blossoms, 

Drifting like spirits around. 

Freshly the fragrance floateth 

Out on the sunset air, 
Softly the light breeze wafts it 

In at the window there, 
Where, softly, softly sleeping, 

In a slumber long and deep, 
Are a mother and her baby, 

And o'er them none to weep. 

Freshly the breeze comes, wafting 
In at the window there,. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 26 

A shower of scented snow-flakes 

On to the woman's hair- 
On to the snowy bosom — 

On to the baby's cheek — 
Like a sign of pardon and healing, 

To the erring and the weak. 

Oh, heart so worn and weary, 

Walking the ways of life, 
The world shall not judge thee longer, 

Nor be with thee at strife. 
Thou hast found the balm of healing, 

God's rest is upon thee now, 
And his fragrant benediction, 

In the blossoms on thy brow. 



THE NUN'S VIGIL. 

Once more the evening shadows creep 
Around my oriel window here; 

Once, more high up the convent wall 
They slowly climb, and disappear. 



26 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And here I sit, as I have sat 

Upon a thousand moonlit nights, 

To listen to the minster chimes, 
And watch the monastery lights. 

I catch a glimse of foam-white sea, 

Breaking upon a dead-black shore; 
I see the trees their wild arms toss, 

1 hear the breakers roll and roar — 
Ah! winds shriek wildly down the beach! 

In calmer scenes I have no part — 
The storms alone blend with my mood, 

Of all around the Sacred Heart. 

Oh, dread to me the peaceful hours 
When the sea sleeps in waveless calm, 

And through the dusky corridors 
I hear the Sisters' holy psalm. 

Dread is the hush of early dawn, 
And dread all mild and peaceful times; 

My heart is calmer when the storm 

Deadens or wholly drowns the chimes. 

Ah, Christ! it is a fearful thing 
In such a holy place to live, 



APPLE -BLOSSOMS. 27 

And hear in every prayer and chant, 
God's voice commanding to forgive; 

And still to feel in every throb 

Of my wild heart, that sense of wrong, 

Which cannot, will not be appeased, 

But grows still stronger, and more strong. 

Upon my knees I spend my days, 

I scourge my flesh with penance sore, 
But still my heart the old wrong holds, 

Refusing still to give it o'er. 
And sometimes through the nights I hear 

The Tempter, in whose power I live, 
Whispering, " Some wrongs so cruel are, 

That it were sinful to forgive!" 

And then he takes me back again — 

Back through the dark and dreadful years, 
And pitilessly shows me now 

What I saw dimly then, through tears; 
And hate and anger rage again 

Within this mad and impious heart, — 
As if it were but yesterday, 

The raging passions madly start. 



28 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And every time the bell rings out, 

That summons me to praise and prayer, 
A sinful longing for the world, 

And all that I encountered there — 
Yea, even for the love that gave 

This cruel wound unto my life 
Comes over me, — and tears and rends 

Me with a fierce and deadly strife. 

Oh, Mary Mother! hear me call! 

Give peace once more unto this soul, 
The peace of God, that nevermore 

These waves of sin may o'er me roll! 
Ah, fearfully the winds rave now, 

The breakers dash far up the heights! 
I hear no more the minster chimes, 

Nor see the monastery lights. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 29 



ON THE HEIGHTS. 

To-night in the purple twilight 

As I fold ray hands to rest, 
The care and fret of the work-day 

Have died all out of my breast, 
As the royal splendor of sunset 

Is dying out of the west. 

I seem in the softened gloaming, 

To stand on a breezy height, 
Below lie the vales of habit, 

And the fields of the daily fight, 
Where the men on their arms are sleeping 

In the evening's dreamy light. 

From the heights of life how distant 

Seem the plains of Everyday; 
How the cares and hopes are shrunken 

That fill up the weary way; 
How the joys lose their thrill of transport, 

And the terrors their dismay. 



30 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

On the heights we are near to heaven, 
It is far from the plains below, 

So far it is dim and hazy 

And loses its glory and glow, 

Until a mirage we deem it, 

Between the Above and Below. 

But if once to the heights we've risen, 
And breathed their inspiring air, 

It is easier then to battle 

In the depths, with Doubt and Care, 

Though gone is the beautiful vision, — 
To recall it is. a prayer. 



UNACHIEVED. 

I am sad for the poems which have been but dreamed, 
For the books which have never been writ, 

For the pictures which never on canvas have gleamed, 
For the thought which no language would fit. 

I am sad for the songs that have burdened the brain 
Of the singer, but could not find birth, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 31 

For the melodies struggling, and struggling in vain, 
To break on the world with their worth. 

I am sad for the work which has never been wrought 
By the hands which were pinioned and pent; 

I lament that the deed could not equal the thought, 
Nor the action the spirit's intent. 

Alas! for the deeds which have never been done — 

So heroic, and grand and sublime; 
Alas! for the battles which have not been won, 

In this contest with life and with time. 

Alas! for the possible loves in the heart 

Of the man who loves never at all ; 
For the sadness and sorrow of lives set apart, 

That might have found joy in Love's thrall. 

Ah, me! for the idols we make to our souls, 

And who live not, save in our ideal ; 
Alas! for the sorrow that over us rolls, 

When our dreams are dispersed by the real. 

Every life has two strands: the life that we see, 
And the other, the sad might-have-been; 



32 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

The being we are, and the one we might be — 
Who shall say where they end or begin? 

And who, that there be not success in defeat, 

And a failure in every success; 
That the battle-field held may not be a retreat, 

And the wrong that we suffer, redress? 



THE BATTLE OF THE FIRE. 

I am sitting idly by my hearthstone, 
Gazing sad and lonely in the fire; 

Wild without the winter winds are howling, 
As the flames leap high, and ever higher, 
Glowing, glancing, gleaming white with ire, 

Full of countless forms of angry demons, 
Fiercely, fiercely fighting, they aspire, 
Each to be the King of Flames, so dire; 

And, with heart intent, I watch the foemen 
Fighting at the Battle of the Fire. 

On one side the hosts are clad in scarlet, 
On the other they are robed in gold, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Purple banners over one are waving, 

And their arms are glittering, white and cold. 
But the hosts of both are brave and bold. 

I can seem to hear the cjanbals clashing, 
And the clouds of battle-smoke behold, 
Each contending army now enfold, 

As the scarlet ranks are rent asunder, 
And o'er all is waved the Flag of Gold. 

All the air is full of angry rushing, 

O'er the hearthstone flows a Red Sea flood, 

As they wildly thrust their quivering lances 
Each in each, till all are drenched in blood, 
And the hosts evanish where they stood. 

Up again are borne the scarlet banners, 
Up again the red battalions crowd, 
And the golden oriflamme is bowed, 

And the king who bore it high has fallen, — 
And lies lowly, weltering in his blood. 

Red and gold, the hosts are thus contending, 
Deep within the troubled human soul; 



34 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Battles fiercely there are ever raffing", 

Passions mighty, struggling for control, — 
Fierce and furious waves of combat roll. 

Deep, and dark, and deadly is the battle, 
Great, and grand, and glorious is the goal, 
And on high, the combat to control, 

God sits, great and calm, the sole spectator 
Of the wondrous Battle of the Soul. 



PEACEFUL BAYS. 

The happy reigns of royal lines, ^ 

Make smallest show on history's page, 

Tourney and joust and foughten field, 
Alone descend to after age. 

And thus it is in this our life, 
The peaceful, quiet, happy years 

We make small note of, but we crowd 
The page with record of our tears. 

Oh, blest are uneventful lives, 
Of whom small story we can tell, 



A PPLE-BL OS SOUS. 

But which when all the page is writ, 
Breathe out like heartsease, u It is well." 

The lives of which great things are told, 
Are saddest of all touched by pen ; 

God sighs with pity when he lays 
Burdens of greatness upon men. 

Oh, clays of pageantry and show, 

Passed out upon life's great highways, 

I bid you vale; I have learned 

To love and seek more peaceful days. 



BANDIT AND PRIEST. 

The vesper bells clanged suddenly out, 
Over the dull Campagna's reach, 

Just as the sun dropped out of sight 
Adown the horizon's level beach. 

The fire-flies lighted their torches red, 
And sallied forth to meet the night, 

Till all of the gray and somber plain 
Grleamed with the fairy and fitful light. 



36 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

The cricket sat in the long pied grass, 
Winding his merry horn with skill, 

And the white malaria rose around, 
With swift and subtle power to kill. 

There was not a sound in the stirless air, 

Till suddenly the cry of a child 
Pierced the ear like a rapier point, 

A thrust of sound two-edged and wild. 

Lost or deserted, a three years' babe 

Lay sobbing alone with a failing breath, 

Coldly and calmly the stars looked down, 
Never made sad by the sight of a death. 

And a priest just then came hurrying by, 
Urged to speed by the chime of the bells, 

A friar he, of the orders gray, 

Well used to penance in silent cells, 

Who knew the rosary bead by bead, 

And said more prayers than a thousand men 

Who, out in the hurry and bustle of life, 
Do penance with sword and axe and pen. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 37 

And now he was hastening home with speed, 
And raying his aves under his breath, 

When he saw the wee child down at his feet, 
Near to the grim, gaunt arms of death. 

" What's this," cried he, as he crossed himself, 
And bent for a moment over the child, 

But the bells clanged louder than ever then, 
And the servile priest looked startled and wild. 

"Late! I am late, by the holy saints! 

If T don't hasten my steps along, 
A pretty penance I soon must do, 

T, who am neither hearty or strong. 

" And as for this wretched little thing, 
It will surely die e'er I reach the town, 

And a lively storm of question and taunt, 
Very likely bring on my old head down." 

So he hurried on, still mumbling prayers, 
Till he reached the shelter of sacred walls, 

Where I trust his devotions were not disturbed, 
By thoughts of a suffering child's shrill calls. 



38 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But now comes a rider over fche plain, 

Belted and spurred like an old-time knight, 

Bandit they say, at the Vatican, 
Outlaw, enemy, dead to the right, 

But his horse stops short at the child's low cry, 

And he folds the wee young thing to his heart, 
Till warmed at his breast it nestles there, 
And sweetly sleeps ere they fairly start. 

And I wonder much what God will say, 
In the final day to the priest and knight, 

Whether the deed or prayer will stand, „ 

In the broad glare of the Great White Light? 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 39 



TOO LATE. 

You stood beside me in the hush 
Of autumn sunset's golden flush, 
Beneath the many-tinted bush. 

My hand upon your arm lay light, 
There was no sound in earth or air — 
A lonely bird slow circled there — 
Earth seemed to fold her hands in prayer, 

As twilight deepened into night. 

You bent your head with manly grace, 
Your glowing eyes swept o'er my face, 
My cold hand trembled in its place. 

You said some passionate, low words; 
Such words as stir the pulse of youth, 
And make the young heart bound, in sooth, 
As if it were God's truest truth 

Trembling across its tense-strung chords. 

But 1 — alas! my youth was gone, 
And I had long ago put on 
A woman's sad and tear-set crown — 
And so my heart was not elate. 



40 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And with no quickening pulse to thrill, 
I listened calm, and cold, and still, 
Though all the founts of tears did fill, 
As I said calmly, friend, " too late." 

" Long, long ago, when life was young, 
And every tense nerve high was strung 
With passionate feeling, then I sung 

The song you ask from my lips now. 
Then through each chamber of my soul, 
Love's anthem swelled beyond control- 
Clearly and strong the psalm did roll, — 

It ceased, I know not when or how. 

Aid it will never rise again, 
The joy, the tumult and the pain 
Of that old time, I seek in vain. 

Ah! what sad irony of fate 
It is to grant us our desires 
After the craving wish expires, 
And when the blackened passion-fires 

Proclaim so coldly, " all too late " 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 41 



SOUL-SAVING. 



I am sick of the preacher's only strain — 

Save your soul, save your soul, save your soul, 

I am tired of hearing for ever and aye, 
The same old song from the pulpit roll. 

It seems to me like a selfish cry — 

This telling a man that the only thing 

Of any importance here below 

Is saving himself from a future sting. 

Far nobler, far better, it seems to me, 

To tell a man to save some other, 
To send him up and down through the world, 

Seeking and saving his fallen brother; 

To put him off from the beaten track, 
Oat into the hedges of sin and shame, 

To teach and tell to the captives there 
The beauty and glory of virtue's name; 

To rescue the starving one from death, 
To rescue the sinning one from crime, 



42 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

To preach the gospel of Present Help 
To the weary one on the shores of Time; 

To seek out those whom the world forgets, 
To plant a flower on a nameless grave, 

To hide the erring one in the heart 

And strengthen it with a purpose brave; 

To do to the little ones of God 

The things which the world does to the great, 
To walk the world with a purpose grand, 

And with eye on the final good, to wait. 

If a man does this, I dare affirm 

That he can afford to forego all care 

About gaining heaven, and give his whole time 
To the work of getting his neighbor there. 



REGRET. 

There is a phantom ever at my side, 
There is a murmur ever in my ear, 
What it would whisper I can never hear, 

And yet I listen, let what will betide; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 43 

Listen most eager but to catch a word 

From this impalpable and lonesome ghost, 
To know why he hath left the farther coast 

And hovers round me like ill-omened bird. 

When in the watches of the solemn night 
I seek the cool nepenthe of sweet sleep, 
I feel a presence with me, that doth keep 

My eyes unclosed till dawns the rosy light. 

When in the awful solitude of crowds 
I pace the city's most tumultuous street, 
I hear the steady pace of unseen feet 

Until a film the face of day enshrouds. 

When sitting with dear friends at festive board, • 
And gaily circle beakers beaded bright, 
A something comes between them and the light, 

And life flies low, that erewhile lightly soared. 

When by the spell of music deeply stirred, 
My heart floats on the sea of sweetest sound, 
Something doth change the sweetness all around 

To misereres sad as e'er were heard. 



44 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Oh! unrelenting spirit of the past! 

Oh, ghostly presence of the fiend, Regret! 

Are there no bounds by which thy feet are set? 
Wilt thou go with me to the bitter last? 

Is there no distant depth where I can flee? 

No spot where poppies grow, that I may eat? 

Or wilt thou follow with thy swift-shod feet 
Even out upon Death's shadowy, shoreless sea? 



LITTLE MOLLIE. 

Little Mollie rides and dances 

In a circus day and night; 
She can do, as well as any, 

Daring deeds without affright. 
Twelve years old is little Mollie — 

Orphan child without a home- 
Day and night she rides and dances, 

Whereso'er they go and come. 
Little Mollie, 

iHas no parents, has no home. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 45 

Little Mollie, all in spangles, 

Rides, as through the towns they go, 
Sees the sidewalks full of children, 

Hears their laughter far below; 
And she wonders, Little Mollie, 

Why they laugh, and clap, and cheer; 
Serious work it is to Mollie, 

Bright and piquant to appear — 
Little Mollie, 

In her eye a starting tear. 

Mollie never has a playmate, 

Never romps as children do, 
She is always tired and sleepy, 

Often very hungry, too; 
And the long roads are so tiresome, 

As they journey here and there, 
And she is so tired and sleepy, 

That at night she says no prayer. 
Little Mollie, 

Does not think that God will care. 

There is nothing else for Mollie, 
This is all the world she knows; 



46 A PPLE-B LOSSOMS. 

She looks neither back nor forward, 

Has few hopes, not many woes. 
Does not even dream, what childhood 

Means to those in happy homes, 
And what tender, careful watching, 

Follows where it goes and comes. 
Little Mollie, . 

Orphan, friendless, homeless, roams. 

Sometimes, in the darkness, Mollie 

Ponders deeply upon life, 
With child instinct groping blindly 

For the ineanino- of the strife. 
Little light shines in on Mollie, 

Though she questions every star, 
And her little heart is yearning 

Toward the Grod who is afar; 
Little Mollie 

Never feels him near, but far. 

Sometimes in the midnight, Mollie 
Sees the moonlight flood her bed, 

And half fancies forms are hovering 
With bright wino-s above her head; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 47 

And she whispers softly, " Mother! " 

And she feels a sense of care, 
Almost as if God were near her, 

Round about her everywhere. 
Little Mollie 

Knows not she has said a prayer. 

Womanhood is coming, Mollie, 

Soon 't will press upon your view, 
With its thousand great temptations — 

Great to all, but most to you; 
But in every time of trial, 

If your heart goes forth as now, 
Surely unseen hands will softly 

Crown with victory your brow. 
Little Mollie, 

God will keep you then, as now. 



48 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



THE MIDNIGHT WATCH. 

Twelve o'clock, and starry and bright. 
How lightly I tread the deck to-night, 
And cheerily answer the mate 
. Ay, ay. 
For this is the last, last night at sea, 
And the very last watch of the voyage to me, 
And we'll be in port to-morrow, 
I cry. 

A thousand days and a thousand nights, 
Since, outward bound I saw the lights^ 
Gleam merrily on the shore 
A y> ay. 
But far more merrily will they gleam, 
If to-night I catch but a single beam, 
Aloft in the light-house tower, 
I cry. 

Cold and bitter that north-wind swept, 
But many a milder watch I've kept 
Less cheerily than to-night. 
Ay, ay. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 49 

For though the voyage was long and drear, 
It all looks bright as home I near, 
And I see the harbor light, 
I cry. 

The harbor light! Huzza! Huzza! 
Away o'er the sea it shines like a star, 
And cheerily beckons us on. 
Ay, ay, 
A sailor's life is the life for me. 
But oh that the voyage could always be 
Just making the port to-morrow, 
I cry. 

FATHER MARQUETTE. 

pale young priest! whose dreamy eyes 
With more than Rembrandt splendors gleam* 

Standing beneath the sunny skies 

Of fair, soft France, dreaming thy dream! 

1 gaze back at thee through the years 
Glorious with many a dear-bought fame, 

And nowhere fall more tender tears 

Than on the page which bears thy name. 
4 



>0 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

I see thee in thy youth's first flush, 

Full of the burning dream of fame, 
Longing, adown the breathless hush 

Of coming time, to hear thy name. 
Aglow with all the quickening wine 

Which surges in the veins of youth, 
Dazzled with splendors of the fine, 

Grand dreams, thou holdest for the truth. 

Oh, matchless brightness of the days 

E'er yet we have unlearned our dreams! 
When from life's sunset side we gaze, 

How fair the radiance on them gleams! 
I see thee standing now amid 

The fragrance of those early hopes, 
While yet from thy deep eyes are hid 

The sadness of life's western slopes. 

And then I watch thee while the thought 

Of duty slowly fills thy soul, 
Till by degrees thy heart is brought 

Beneath its sure, divine control. 
And slowly, sadly, one by one, 

Thy dreams, thy hopes before it fall, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 51 

Till the one thought, — work to be done 
For God and man — is all in all. 

Across the sea it speeds thy feet, 

Across the trackless western wild, 
Where the rude savage, stern and fleet, 

Lists to the words, so warm and mild, 
Friendly and gentle, thou dost speak. 

While others perish, quick as thought 
They seem to read, though poor and weak, 

In thee the message thou hast brought. 

Around Superior's pictured rocks 

They gather, listening to thy words, 
While far away the battle's shocks 

Seem to recede, and quickly chords 
Of tenderer feeling vaguely stir 

Within each dull and savage heart; 
Christ's name upon the page they blur 

With tears, from founts which rarely start. 

In lodges of each warlike race 

I see thee welcomed with good cheer, 

And many a stern and sombre face 
Lights up to see and feel thee near. 



52 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Through dalles of rivers broad and deep, — 
Wisconsin and the turbid Fox — 

Fearless and swift I see thee leap, 
In light canoe, adown the rocks. 

While at thy side, like trusted friends, 

The dark braves, red with war-paint, stand, 
And on each hand afar extends 

The savage, wild and unknown land. 
Portage and marsh, and sandy bar, 

Impede thy course and break thy track, 
But onward, led as by a star, 

Thou goest,* never looking back. ^ 

Safely, through Mississippi's waves 
They lead thee on thy goodly quest, 

Dotting the shore along with graves, 
Where sank the bravest and the best. 

journey grand on unknown trail, 
Amid a new world's darksome shades! 

1 picture here a Holy Grail! 

And here sublimest of cruse Jes! 

Now by Lake Huron's stormy shore, 
They point us to a lonely grave; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 53 

Rudely the inland sea doth roar, 

Wildly the pine trees moan and wave, 

And jagged rocks, flung everywhere, 
Bear scant and sombre coats of moss; 

No vine, no flower, is swaying there, — 
Nought save a slowly-crumbling cross. 

Yet more than sculptured monument, 

Or flower-strewn grave in Pere la Chaise, 
Is that low mound, where he, content 

To rest so, shines adown the way 
Of this dull age, and shows us so 

A man to fill our longing eyes, 
Wherein with saintly radiance glow 

All beauties of self-sacrifice. 

BEAD! 

Dead! dead on the field of battle, 

'Mid its awful crash and roar; 
Dead! gone on the last long marching. 

To the land where nevermore 
Shall the bugle sound reveille, 

Or the dreadful cannon roar. 



54 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Dead! dead on the field of battle, 
A gallant heart, and tried; 

Close, close to the foremost standard, 
Where the fiercest warriors ride, 

Where men fell like leaves in autumn, 
And where he fell, and died. 

Dead! dead on the field of battle, 

With his name and his honors white — 

There's nothing on earth so glorious 
As dying for the Right, 

Thank God he died mid the foremost, 
In the fiercest of the fight. ^ 

Dead! dead on the field of battle; 

Could he be alive once more, 
We would bid him go, and do, and die, 

'Mid the battle's rush and roar. 
He who for country dies, dies not, 

But lives forevermore. 



APPLE-BL OSSOMS. 



LITTLE BILLY. 

Three sons were mine. Brave, stalwart lads 

Were Phil and Ben to see. 
Sunburnt and hardy, tall and grand, 

And dutiful to me; 
But little Billy, he was weak — 

Not half so tall and strong as they, 
But all were tender of the lad, 

And hoped he would be well some day; 
And I, although T loved the rest, 
Pressed him the closest to my breast. 

Well, war-time came, and all the boys 

Threw down the plow and hoe, 
And with the rest, my Phil and Ben 

Said, - L Mother, we must go! " 
I kissed them on each sunburnt cheek — 

How grand they looked in army blue! — 
"God bless you, boys! " was all I said; 

They said, " Billy will care for you," 
And he, when they were out of sight, 
Sobbed wildly in my arms all night. 



56 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Then battles came; we lost them all; 

Anew they called for men. 
" Mother," said Billy, then one day, 

"You've given Phil and Ben, 
And they were well and strong," he said, 

" Of far more worth to you than I, 
But I can bear a musket too, 

And I can like a freeman die; 
So, mother, you must let me go, 
And help to quell this rebel foe." 

I said no word; no tear let fall; 

He looked so pale and wan, ^ 

I could not add another pang 

To bear when he was gone. 
And so one morning when I 'woke, 

I found that 1 was all alone; 
Ah, then, when none were by to hear, 

For little Billy I made moan. 
I sadly grieved for Phil and Ben, 
But this grief rent my soul in twain. 

Then twelve months passed, and peace, it seemed, 
Would soon our portion be; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. hi 

Sherman was marching bravely on, 

Toward the shining sea, 
When one dark morn a letter came, 

Signed with the names of Phil and Ben; 
" Mother," it said, " Billy is dead — 

Starved in a rebel prison pen! 
Dear Billy! oh, so wan and thin, 
May God avenge this frightful sin! " 

They cried for vengeance, but to me 

That thought came not. I said 
The dread words o'er and o'er again, 

" Our little Billy, he is dead! " 
And ever as I said I saw 

The wan forms of that stricken camp; 
The skeletons who watched my boy 

Slow dying in those trenches damp, 
And the shoal graves of buried men, 
Starved in a rebel prison -pen. 

Now peace has come. The troops are home. 

A glorious end men say; 
Their hundred battles, Phil and Ben 

Will boast of till their dying day. 



58 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But little Billy, since that hour 

When first I heard the news, has stood 

Before me with his dead, white face, 
And piteous eyes, that ask for food! 

Pray for me, mothers, that I cease 

To see him thus, and so find peace. 



THE MISSING SHIP. 

From out a sheltered, sunny bay, 

With white sails rustling in the breeze, 

The proud ship like a sea-gull swept, * 
Across the distant, purple seas. 

But somewhere on the foaming deep, 
The ship for angry waves was sport, 

And all we know is that she ne'er 

Dropped anchor in the wished-for port. 

And many an anxious, troubled heart 

Cries "where is she," with trembling lip; 

God only knows, for shades surround 
That dreamy thing, a missing ship. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 59 

In thy broad sea, Humanity, 

A gallant bark with us set sail, 
But drifting on, our courses changed 

With the first rising of the gale; 

And we have spoken many a sail, 

And waited answer with white lip, 
In hopes to hear from one who is 

To us through life — a missing ship. 

But never sounds the welcome name, 
When trumpets answer o'er the sea; 

Yet "sail ahoy!" still starts the thought 
That this the missing craft may be. 

Is she afloat, a shattered wreck, 

Or lies she deep in coral caves, 
Or is she where those floating bergs 

Wedge them within their icy graves? 

We cannot know until we gain 

That port, for which we all are bound; 

But there we know all sails will meet, 
And every missing ship be found. 



60 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



CHARLES BICKERS. 

Already, since lie passed away, 

Thousands have strung their lays, 
Thousands of tender hands have brought 

Their offerings of bays; 
Yet I, the least among them all, 

With reverent step draw near, 
To lay my offering at his feet — 

A blended smile and tear. 

How bright the world was when he died, 

Choral with summer's hymn, 
But when he passed, o'er all the land 

The sunshine grew more dim, 
The stars seemed paler, and the breath 

Of violets was more faint, 
As with a sigh, Humanity 

Crowned reverently its Saint. 

Back through the misty centuries, 

I look with patient care, 
And many a one find canonized 

Who lived by faith and prayer. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 61 

I yield them all the reverence due, 

Yet in my heart there lurks 
A tenderer feeling, towards this new 

Apostleship of Works. 

I love to think of him we mourn, 

Treading the narrow ways, 
Where all the lowly of the earth 

Endure th' appointed days; 
And when he dies I love to hear 

It swell from sea to sea, 
This tribute to the work he did — 

"No man so loved as he!" 

And oh, with what a tenderness 

I turn his pages o'er. 
And question what this hand will do 

Upon the other shore; 
And in a mist of dreams I sigh, 

As I his names recall; 
" I wonder if he there has met 

With Nell and Little Paul." 

The mystery of the future time, 
No hand for us can write, 



62 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

There is darkness in the valley dim, 

Beyond, we trust, is light; 
And spite of bigots, fools and blind, 

Who question of his worth, 
He'll not be shut from heaven at last 

Who'll always live on earth. 

A MOOD. 

I'm tired of stemming the tide of life, 
Its burden aloft on the waves to lift; 

Oh, heart of mine, let us give up the strife, 
Let us drift, oh my soul, let us drift! 

So easy it is to go with the tide, 
To the music of wave and of oar, 

And never to think as we onward glide, 
If we drift out to sea, or in shore. 

I'm tired, I'm tired, of endeavor and thought, 
I'm tired of the struggle with self, 

I'm tired of the race for power and fame, 
I'm tired of the battle for pelf. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 63 

Let us give it all up, and lie down in the boat, 

And care not as time glideth by, 
Though the wandering gypsies, Wind and Storm, 

Pitch their black tents in the sky. 

Though the winds may roar, and the waves may rise, 
And the coal-black heavens may frown, 

Let us sing as we float, " If we land, it is well, 
And if not, we only go down! " 

TO A FRIEND OF THE OLD TIME. 

Oh, friend, sweetest friend, of life's morning, 
Through the mists of sadness and tears, 

My heart, like a bird in the dawning, 
Is calling to you, through the years. 

We have drifted so widely asunder, 
And the years roll so darkly between, 

Will you hear if I call you, I wonder, 
Can I summon you back to the scene? 

In the years which have gone by forever, 
We shared every joy, every pain; 



64 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Is it true that long absence can sever 
Such ties, and no tendril remain? 

Let me rather think, friend of the olden, 
Some tie binds my heart to you yet, 

That love's sun, once so splendidly golden, 
May hang low, but cannot have set. 

For, oh friend, the oldest and dearest, 

I have learned — have not you — in these years? 

That the friends of our youth are the nearest, 
Through all changes of laughter and tears. 

And oh, friend, those early romances — ^ 
We may talk of them lightly, and yet, 

Through all of life's changes and chances, 
They're the last things we ever forget. 

PARKER. 

Afar, afar across the sea, 

He sleeps, great Brother of the World, 
For, under bluer skies than ours, 

His banner life was softly furled. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 65 

And yet it seems that he should rest 

At home, among his native hills, 
And on his ear should steal the song 

Sung by his own New England rills. 

Would not his rest be deeper here, 
In the broad land he helped to free, 

Than in the land of priests and kings, 
Albeit 't is sunny Italy? 

Nay, nay! his love embraced all lands, 

And he was brother to the race, 
And to no color, tribe or clan, 

Would limit God's abounding grace. 

And thus his mourners are not found 

Alone beneath his native skies, 
But wheresoe'er to Freedom they 

Build altars, shall his praises rise. 

The weak and lowly of the wcrld, 
The black man, and the exiled poor, 

Have strung his name on rosaries, 
And daily count it o'er and o'er. 



66 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

A prophet of the coming time, 

He lived a martyr in his day, 
But long his name shall sound where'er 

The bugles of Reform shall play. 

And sweeter shall his memory grow, 
As passion's fires shall die away, 

And to the world a beacon be, 
Of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

Oh, day-star of the Western World! 

Here, where the New World's forests rise, 
We pray for benedictions on ^ 

Thy grave beneath the Tuscan skies. 

Sleep sweetly, Grand Heart, while the airs 
. Of Florence fan thy place of rest, 
And Tuscan maidens, crowned with flowers, 
Drop loving garlands on thy breast. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 67 



UNDER THE LOCUSTS. 

Spring-time was tripping o'er the hills, 

And garlanding the sunny leas, 
And white flowers hung, like scented wreaths 

Of sea-foam on the locust trees. 

Moonlight came softly out of heaven, 

Leaving ajar the doors of light, 
And playful sprites with torches lit, 

Came out into the Northern night. 

And 'mid the glories of that hour 

A maid, with step like May's soft breeze, 

And eyes like little wells of Heaven, 
Stood with me 'neath the locust trees. 

Her hand, all pink and snowy white, 
Had ceased to flutter, and at ease, 

Lay soft in mine, as I bent down 

And kissed her neath the locust trees. 

A year has passed — a little year, 

Again have come Spring's moonlit nights, 



68 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And once again are lovers out, 

A-watching late the Northern lights. 

But I stand calm and very still, 

Feeling a kiss in every breeze, 
As all night long I sit and watch 

A grave beneath the locust trees. 

DRIFTING AT ART. 

We walked together in the summer night, 
Beneath the green of overhanging trees, 

While swift St. Lawrence sounded in our ear 
His greeting to the dim and distant seas. 

A thousand isles of greenness and of bloom, 
Dotted the river like bright emeralds strewn 

In silvery expanse, and rower's oars 
Made music to our ears, of tender tone. 

In that enchanted light of stars we stood, 

Gazing upon the glory of the moon; 
And naught of all the world intruded there, 

While heaven seemed symboled by that night of June. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. . 69 

It was a chance brought us together thus, 

Long years had flown since thus we two had met, 

And in those years we both had sought to learn 
Life's last and hardest lesson— to forget. 

And nought had changed in outward lot since then, 
Still was the barrier high as heaven twixt us; 

Yet Destiny, that cruel, jeering elf, 

Had flung us lace to face together, thus. 

We talked a little of indifferent things, 

My hand lay icy-cold upon your arm, 
"We wandered listlessly through flowery paths, 

Each wondering why the other was so calm. 

Each living o'er the hours when, passion-tost, 

We seemed to stand each side some dread ravine, 

While hell, all molton with its lurid glare, 

In unchecked torrent, seemed to roll between. • 

Calmness had come upon our hearts since then, 
The healing balm, of years, so lightly lay 

Upon us, that till now we had not known 

That we were healed; we thought to ache alway. 



70 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But now that we were met, we felt that all 
Was not with us as it had erewhile been, 

We seemed like ghosts come back to play the part 
We erst had taken in life's stormy scene. 

And am I glad that thus we met again, 

That I have learned no love can changeless be, 

But that each soul in working out its fate, 
Weighs anchor, and sails lonely out to sea? 

That friends go with us to a certain point, 
That then we drift away from them, and they 

Away from us, to find some other craft ** 
That they may sail awhile with on their way? 

Nay, nay, I am not glad — yet you and I 
Must take our destiny as God has planned, 

And as we lose our hold of earthly love, 
Must seek to cling the closer to his hand. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 71 



TEMPTATION. 



My lady, with the name so grand 
That all the people in the land 
Know her, and dimly understand 

Her majesty and grace, 
Has left the dizzy, dazzling ball, 
Has swept her own ancestral hall, 
And gained her chamber, where the wall 

Reflects her beauteous face. 

A face so fair, a face so pale, 
That gossips tell you many a tale 
Of how its witchery doth avail 

To bring unto her feet, 
All who approach her, high or low; 
But how small favor she doth show, 
And seldom will a smile bestow 

On any she doth meet. 

But wearily she walks the ways 
Of Fashion's gay and gilded maze, 
And drearily the dreary days 
Dawn for her, and gO down; 



72 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

A weariness that hath no end, 
A loneliness though crowds attend, 
A hopeless looking toward the end 
Of all earth's poor renown. 

And as to-night she sits to gaze 
Upon the firelight's fitful blaze, 
She shudders as the coming days 

Before her vision rise. 
She sees the long, long, lonely life, 
The days of dread, the days of strife, 
A loveless and an unloved wife, 

And hot tears fill her eyes. 

Then passionately comes the thought, 
That her high station has but brought 
Evil unto her life, and naught 

But evil evermore; 
And should she leave it now, her fall 
Would bring small sorrow to the Hall, 
For little love hath she in all — 

The Lady Isadore. 

And brightly comes a vision now, 
Of a proud form, and noble brow, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 73 

And lips that tenderly can vow 

Of love o'er all supreme; 
And softly now my lady's face 
Glows with the tender, witching grace 
Which doth all weariness efface, 

As forward goes her dream. 

Away in lands beyond the sea, 
They two would wander, ever free 
From all the pain and misery 

That late hath been her lot; 
And, loving better day by day, 
Sweetly would dream their lives away, 
Down by fair Naples' sunny bay, 

Forgetting and forgot. 

" Yes, go I will!" my lady cried, 
"No ray of hope hath life beside; 
Coming, ray love, your happy bride, 

This night of all life's nights. 
My few farewells can soon be said, 
No children fill the little bed 
Where once my baby laid his head — 
God! how that thought affrights! 



74 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

" My baby! baby! baby mine! 

How softly doth thy sweet face shine — 

That face so lovely, so divine — 

I see it even yet. 
God! could the mother of that child 
Appear at Heaven's gate defiled? 
Nay! nay! Oh, heart so fierce and wild, 

How could you thus forget?" 

And down upon her knees she goes, 

And fair the fitful firelight flows 

O'er the young face, filled with the throes 

Of anguish and remorse. ^ 

" Oh, Lady, Mother of our Lord, 
Hear me, for oft have I implored, 
Speak to my heart one single word, 
- And I shall feel its force. 

" But left alone, I fall, and fall, 
And anguish and regret are all 
My portion, and in deadly thrall 

Passion doth hold me still. 
Help me to cast this love aside, 
And all of earthly pomp and pride, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 75 

And come to Thee as Heaven's bride, 
And do thy holy will." 

Then peace, sweet peace, upon her fell, 
And kneeling there, a holy spell 
Came over her, that did expel 

All passion and remorse; 
And rising up she walked henceforth 
With those who live upon the earth 
Lives sacred, and who run with worth 

A still diviner course. 

And swiftly from her face did fall 
All weariness and sense of thrall, 
And in its place a look of all 

That is on earth divine; 
Sweet peace the world can never know, 
And joy that doth forever flow, — 
And trust in God, above, below, 

Make face and life to shine. 

And softly now the years go by, 
So lovingly and lingeringly, 
As loth for her too swift to fly, 
A halo soft and faint 



76 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

■ Surrounds her life, which others see, 
And bless her, pure and reverently, 
Until her name and fame, they be 
That of a blessed Saint. 

CROSSES. 

Oh ye stars that shine in such peerless glory, 

Making the whole dark night- world glad, 
Ye beam as brightly as though the story 

Of this dark life were not so sad. 
Do ye not hear, through the rush of spheres, 

And the holy songs of the morning starts, 
The sighs of the weary and heavy laden, 

And the shrieks that break through fetters and bars? 
Can ye not see earth's pilgrims sitting 

Down by the wayside, counting their losses, 
And sad hearts toiling up life's steep hillside, 
Bearing their crosses? 

Have ye not kind hearts that tremble with pity 

For those whose visions pierce not the thick gloom 

Which lies in the space 'twixt the Beautiful City, 
And the damp, low chambers of earth's cold tomb? 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 77 

Do you not feel for those who are crying 

In each Gethsemane all o'er the land, 
For the tone of a voice that forever is silent, 

For the thrill of dead lips, or the touch of a hand? 
Do ye not see low graves in each hollow, 

Bedded with grass, and heavy with mosses, 
And all around them such sad, silent mourners, 
Bearing their crosses? 

And can ye look, bright stars of the midnight, 

On all these things without thrilling- with woe? 
Do not this care, and sorrow, and earth-blight 

Make it look dark as ye gaze down below? 
Or do these things, from the height whence ye view 
them, 

Look to you only as motes on life's glass? 
And shall we all view them thus when, life ended, 

Over death's bridge we in triumph shall pass? 
Shall we bless God then, that thus he hath sent us, 

Through these dark life-paths, counting our losses, 
And, sad and heavy, up life's steep hillside 
Bearing our crosses? 



78 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

My love she lay dead in yonder room, 

With her clouds of dark, dark hair around her, 

With her hands at rest on her snowy breast, 
And her eyes just closed, as I found her. 

Then they led me away from yonder room, 

Firmly led as I tried to linger, 
And 1 saw as I passed, my love for the last, 

A jewel of flame on her finger. 

Burning and bright, and of untold price/ 
And I said, let it gleam there forever, 

Down in the tomb it will light up the gloom, 
And the darkness will find her never. 

So they bore her away to the hateful grave, 

And I cried aloud in my sorrow, 
Alas! and alas! can I live to pass 

The endless hours till the morrow? 

But at night some sordid wretches came 
To the grave where my love was sleeping, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 79 

To search for the gem which was more to them, 
Than the love for whom 1 was weeping. 

But as they lifted the coffin lid, 

And saw the white hands and the jewel, 

My love she cried, as to rise she tried, 
" To bury the living is cruel!'' 5 

So, now I possess my love again, 

Oh! hour of rapturous blisses! 
From her finger tips to her perfect lips, 

1 cover her over with kisses. 

And yet I'm aware, as the days go by, 

Of a frightful thought and a cruel, 
Of what might have been, without evil or sin, 

Had the men never sought for the jewel. 



BENEATH THE BUTTERCUPS. 

My little child was dead, and we 
Had laid him silently away, 

Amid the weeping of the skies 
One swiftly-changeful April day. 



80 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And when another day was passed, 
I sought the little grave to kneel 

Beside it, feeling desolate 

As only childless mothers feel. 

But little hands had been before 

And all the sod was strewn with gold, 

A very bank of buttercups 

Gleamed on the sod so bare and cold. 

I blessed the little wandering feet 
Of happy children who in play 

Had cast their offerings on the spot 
Where dust so pure and precious lay. 

And in my heart a little ray 

Of distant comfort seemed to dawn, 
- The utter hopelessness of death 

Was from that moment wholly gone. 

The light that lingers in its gloom 

Has burst the bond and shone abroad, 

And now the grave of every hope 
Has buttercups upon the sod. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 81 



FROM SHORE TO SHORE. 

My friend is dying to-day, 

The friend on whose heart I rest, 

Leaving the world we have known, 
Setting out on a lonely quest. 

And I sit a little apart 

From the friend who is dying to-day; 
Leaving the world we have known, 

And wistfully wand'ring away; 

And peer with a glance intense, 

Out into the utter dark 
Of the silent, shoreless sea, 

Where soon she must launch her bark. 

Where, torn away from my arms, 
And leaving the well-known shore, 

No signal can ever come 
From her to me, evermore. 

Oh, friend, who art dying to-day, 

Is it true that no sign can come? 
G 



82 APPLE -BLOSSOMS. 

Will you send no tidings back, 
No message to friends at home? 

If a New World yon shall gain, 
Across death's Western Sea, 

May not a chain of thought be stretched 
From shore to shore for me? 

A little throb of your life, 
A little pulse of your love, 

Which the billows cannot cool, 
Which the torrents cannot move? 

Oh, friend, if you reach that shoref 
Friend on whose heart I lean, 

If ye speak but a word I can know, 
There will yawn no sea between. 



MARCHES. 

March, march, march, 
Through road, and alley, and street, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
With weary and aching feet, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Over the thirsty plain, 
Over the dreary hill, 
Over the dangerous ford, 
Over the prairie chill; 
Over the tottering bridge, 
Over the desolate marsh, 
Through the disputed pass, 
Flinty, and wild, and harsh, 
On, on, on, 
With weary and aching feet, 

From sunset to midnight and dawn, 
From dawn till the noontide heat. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
All through the weary night, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
Under the fierce sun's light; 
Peering for ambushed foes, 

Startled with strange alarms, 
Exhausted, and falling out, 

Tottering under their arms. 
Hungry, and cold and damp, 
Weary, and sick, and sore, 
Pursued, — we must tramp, or die, 
Till the weary march is o'er. 



84 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Oh, the sad and solemn marches! 
Oh, the long and dreadful marches! 
Oh, the forced and midnight marches 
Of the troops! 

March, march, march, 
With banners and pennons gay, 

With faces shining bright, 
In the light of the early day; 

With burnished muskets gleaming, 
And blazoned banners beaming, 
And every brave heart dreaming 
A dream of victory. 

On, on, on, 
No footstep now moves slow; 
Still fleeter and fleeter move, 

We are marching on the foe! 
Hurry, and hasten and run! 

Move swiftly, we care not how, 
We are marching toward the foe, 

And the toil is nothing now. 
No matter how fast we move, 
Our hearts are ahead of our feet, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 85 

Our faces are toward the foe, 

Hurrah! let our steps be fleet. 
With our hearts all on the fight, 

For never a thought must roam, 
As we march toward the waiting foe, 

To the loved ones left at home. 
No time for tenderness now, 

No time for the dreams of love, 
To-day the whole world sees us, 

To-day we must victors prove. 
Then march, march, march, 

"With hearts and footstejDS light, 
No hardships do we feel, 

When we move toward the fight. 
Oh, the glory of the marches! 
Oh, the thrill of forward marches! 
Oh, the prayers that speed the marches 
Toward the foe! 

March, march, march, 
The day is fought and won; 

We are following their retreat, 
Let us run, run, run! 



86 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Fleeter than frightened hares, 

Pursue them as they flee, 
And cheer, and shout and sing 

Wild songs of jubilee, 
While every heart keeps time 
To notes of victory. 
Dash, dash, dash, 

Onward and ever on! 
Clash, clash, clash, 

The foes before us run! 
Crash, crash, crash! 

They <are firing as they runj. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
We can think of our sweethearts now, 

And how proudly they will view 
Battle laurels on each brow. 
We can think of them all at home, 

Reading the battle news, 
And talking of the brave, 

And giving to each his dues. 
And so we march, march, march, 

In our hearts but a single pain- — 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 87 

The thought of the brave, brave boys, 

Who will never march again; 
The thought of the ones who fell, 

'Mid the battle's rush and roar, 
And who never will bivouac 

With their camp-mates any more, 
'Tis this alone that saddens 

The grand pursuing marches, 

The glorious forward marches 
Of the troops. 

SOJSTG. 

My heart is out to sea, love, 

Afar, afar, afar, 
Each ship I watch, so snowy white, 

Shines for me like a star. 
The ocean is my heaven, 

The sails all stars to me; 
The hours are long upon the strand, 

For my heart is out to sea. 

My heart is out to sea, love, 
Afar, afar, afar, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

It hovers o'er each sail and mast, 

And clings to every spar. 
It sees you tread the midnight deck, 

Or lightly climb aloft, 
When the moonlight lies upon your track, 

So beautiful and soft. 

My heart is out to sea, love, 

It follows you below, 
It reaches to the deepest dream 

That your soft slumbers know. 
While you are true, my soul doth joy 

To watch you, as you fly, ** 

But oh, how soon my soul would know 

If you were false, and die. 

My soul is out to sea, love, 

Afar, afar, afar, 
Perhaps you see it on your track, 

And deem it some bright star. 
And it is like a star, love, 

So constant and so true, 
And like a star, eternal, 

In the love it bears for you. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



WATCHWOBBS. 



Ever, in this earth's broad armies, 
Hearts will thrill at certain signs, 

And their pulses throb, as certain 
AYatchwords ring along the lines. 

There are words with magic in them, 

To arouse each soul that hears; 
Lift them up above their trifling, 

And their petty cares and fears. 

"Words which have made willing martyrs, 
Which have borne the soldier on 

To the last mad charge, when wildly 
Death came pouring from each gun. 

Words which have crushed thrones to atoms, 
Torn the shackles off from slaves, 

And for wrongs of ages growing 
Dug deep and unhallowed graves. 

But the Speaker comes but seldom, 
Times and places far apart, 



90 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Listen to those matchless voices, 
Catch fire at the prophet's heart. 

But when once their words are uttered, 
They go forth and never die, 

Lingering, blessing, as the ages 
Slowly, silently pass by. 

Thus the words which Jesus uttered, 

Long ago in Galilee, 
Linger yet, and still will linger, 

In the ages yet to be. 

• f- 

Watchwords for the meek and lowly, 

Watchwords for the weak and poor, 

Watchwords for the sick and sinning, — 

They eternally endure. 

DREAD. 

Good God! how still is the house! 

The flush of the dawn steals through, 
As I come from the land of Dreams, 

To the land of the Real — the True. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 91 

And I list for a childish laugh, 

For the sound of a step on the stair, 

For the merry music and thrill 
Of the children everywhere. 

Ah! what if it should not come? 

What if this silence should stay? 
And never a laugh or a shout 

Should be heard in the house, to-day? 

Who knows but God may have called, 
Since the last night's noise and glee, 
To the winsome and wistful face, 
" Little one, I have need of thee." 

I rise with a startled cry, 

I walk with a tottering tread, 
I scarcely can mount the stairs, 

I shudder to dream them dead. 

But merry the eyes that gleam, 

At me from the snowy bed, 
And merry the laughter and din, 

Which break on my anxious head. 



92 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But I cannot echo the laugh, 
I cannot reply to the shout, 

I can only clasp them close, 
And weep my glad heart out. 

And think with a thrill of dread, 
Of the possible deadly woe, 

Which hides in the heart of love, 
And tempers and saddens it so. 

Of the wail which lurks in the laugh, 
Of the minor in each glad strain, 

Of the restlessness in' the rest, *• 
Of the loss which imbues all gain. 

And I wonder if ever the soul. 

Will attain to a perfect good; 
If gladness, and that alone, 

Is a boon we would claim — if we could? 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



THE LATER LOVE. 

Ah, sweet is love's first dream! 

He over whom it hovers 
Knows his first bliss, for truly we 

First know ourselves when lovers. 
Then all the world breaks into bloom, 

The streams break into singing, 
And every tree-spire, mad with joy, 

Sets little bells a-ringing. 

The sunset clouds clap hands, 

And trail their purple banners, 
And all the little flowers lift up 

Their faces like hosannahs. 
There's naught but glimmer and grace, 

There's only gladness and glory, 
The sweets alone of earth and heaven 

Are mingled in the story. 

But there comes a later love, 

Born when the heart is older, 
When the dreams have grown less bright. 

And the blood is calmer and colder; 



94 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

When the earth with jubilant joy 
No longer breaks into singing, 

And when aloft in the trees, 

Sadder bells than of old are ringing; 

When the sea of life's dull care 

Has whelmed us in its surges, 
And over many hopes and joys 

Our hearts have tolled their dirges; 
When much of the glimmer and grace, 

The glory and gladness, are banished, 
And life's most sweet enchantment 

Forevermore has vanished. 

Then there comes another dream, 

A love that is sadder, but stronger, 
Which moves us not as of old, 

But moves us deeper and longer; 
Which touches us to the depths 

Of our being, not our seeming, 
And makes us feel that life and death 

Hang now upon our dreaming. 

A love which holds the mind, 

And the soul, as well as the senses; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 95 

Which rises up, like an armed man, 

And carries our defenses; 
A love which will bide all waiting, 

And all other ties will sever; 
A love which once enthralling, 

Enthralls forever, and ever. 

Ah! this is the true love dream, 

When the heart has ripened with living! 
Now we give away our hearts, 

When they've grown worth the giving. 
x\nd sweet, but sad, is the smile 

Which we give to the April posies, 
When, dewy with all delight, 

We stand amid June and its roses. 

MAY. 

The world has blossomed, blossomed, 

Every tree now wears a crown, 
And on the wings of all the winds 

Sweet odors flutter down. 
Rose and white, the waves of blossom 

Softly roll and surge around, 



96 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And every light breeze dashes 
Their white spray to the ground. 

The world has blossomed, blossomed, 

Blue violets fill each dell; 
O'er the soft and yielding mosses 

They cast their dainty spell. 
And the pansies in the garden, 

With their wondrous mournful eyes, 
Seem telling tragic stories 

To the stars up in the skies. 

The world has blossomed, blossomed, 

Gorgeous colors are unrolled, ^ 
And the tulips in their splendor, 

Seem a very Cloth of Gold. 
And the regal lilac bushes 

Cast their incense far around, 
While the golden dandelions 

Star all the common ground. 

Oh, in this month of blossoms, 
Heart, how can we be sad? 

Let us cease this selfish weeping, 
And with the world be glad. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 97 

Let us leave the purple splendors 

Of the royal years behind, 
And feel though the best has faded, 

Some good we yet may find. 

Oh, blossoms, sweet May blossoms, 

There is promise in your touch, 
Yet I sometimes weep and tremble, 

Lest I've asked of life too much; 
And when I think of the bright hopes 

I have buried 'neath your snows, 
I know well that none are left me, 

Half, half so sweet as those. 



INTO THE SHADOWS. 

I'm in the flush of life's midday, 
The world is pleasant and bright; 

I've home, with voices of children 
Singing from morning till night, — 

Bright home, with faces of children 
Glowing with sweetness and light, 

And I dread looking on to the shadows. 

7 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

The summer of life is sunny, 

The air is balmy and bland, 
I've friends with faces of kindness, 

Around me on every hand, — 
Dear friends, with their love and goodness, 

Making sweetness and light in the land, 
And I dread looking on to the shadows. 

Yet I know that at life's midsummer, 

The fall of the year is nigh, 
And I shudder to think of changes 

That come as the years go by — 
How the friends" will change, and lea^e me, 

And the hopes will wither and die, 
As I go on into the shadows. 

Ah, blood that's red and so rapid, 
You willgrow both thin and cold; 

Ah, tresses heavy and sheeny, 
Your hue will no longer be gold; 

x\nd eyes so keen and so piercing, 
You will dim when feeble and old, 

We go on into the shadows. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 99 

I love not a body that's feeble, 

But I hate a feeble mind; 
To fade, and fail and falter, 

All deaf and dumb and blind, 
And of what is before recks little, 

And little of what is behind — 
Ah, this is among the shadows. 

To look upon faces that pity, 

To look upon faces that shrink, 
To feel this but dimly and faintly, 

Ah, Christ, what should we think 
Of life, when thus we have tried it, 

And stand upon death's brink, 
Were there naught beyond the shadows. 

TO ROBERT COLLYER, 

AFTER THE GREAT FIRE, STANDING AND PREACHING TO 
HIS PEOPLE UPON THE RUINS OF UNITY CHURCH. 

Oh, noble heart, upon the wreck 
Of earthly hopes thus standing, 

And in the bright, October sun, 
Thy stricken flock rebanding, 



100 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

I turn to you with eyes all wet, 
And read the grand old story 

Of steadfast faith, abiding through 
All wreck, unto new glory. 

Oh, leader of a dauntless band! 

Through tumult and disaster, 
And all the burden of this woe, 

I see you clinging faster 
To the great truth that God is good, 

In spite of fearful trials, 
And though at times he pours on man 

All of the seven-fold vials. ^ 

Oh, Priest and Poet both in one, 

Still flow your words as sweetly 
As though fair Unity still reared 

Her sheltering walls completely; 
As though through all her arches yet 

Glad melodies were ringing, 
And all our souls in triumph were 

Borne upward on the singing. 

I hear the faltering of your voice, 
Your eyes with tears are brimming, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 101 

Yet still of steady hope and trust, 

Your heart within is hymning; 
And never, for a moment Doubt 

Creeps in, with face of evil, 
And whispers, " God is losing ground, 

He gains on Him — this Devil! " 

Rarely hath shone a brighter faith, 

A trust more pure and holy, 
Since with the Twelve, in old Judea, 

There walked the Meek and Lowly; 
And seldom in such matchless speech, 

Were uttered thoughts so golden — 
Thoughts to inspire, to cheer, to nerve, 

To gladden, and embolden. 

Oh, Poet of the winds and streams, 

Of bright glad summer weather, 
Your speech is fragrant as the breath 

Of wild flowers and of heather; 
For even through the chill and gloom 

Of this most deep dejection, 
Your sunny faith can see approach 

The Day of Resurrection. 



102 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Speak on, brave leader of the brave! 

Your words are needed ever, 
To nerve a fainting world to press 

On still in great endeavor. 
And may each heart-grief of your own 

Be lessened, and be lightened, 
By knowledge of how much your life 

The world has blessed and brightened. 

CONTRAST. 

A beautiful bride is leaning 

Upon her lover's arm; 
In the whole wide world, to her vision, 

There is nothing now that can harm; 
And her trustfulness sits upon her, 

As her glory and her charm. 

But sitting there in the shadow, 

Is another, who loved the same 

As the maiden now before her, 
i 
This bridegroom of stately name; 

And her trustfulness sits upon her 

As her mockery and her shame. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 103 

For the one there are bridal roses, 

And the great world's glittering grace, 

There are wealth, and fame, and splendor, 
And the rapture on her face. 

For the other, there in the shadow, 
There are ruin and disgrace. 

Oh, sweet is the love that beameth 

On the face of the happy bride, 
As she standeth there by the bridegroom, 

In perfect trust and pride, 
But the face of the other woman 

Is of one who late hath died. 

DELIVERANCE. 

We were on our way through Dacotah 

A sick and famishing train, 
Our stores were gone and our money, 

And the night set in with rain. 
In the midst of a dark pine barren, 

Round a desolate fire we crept, 
And we tethered our weary horses, 

And some of us sat and wept. 



104 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Oh, dark were thy skies, Dacotah, 
On that bleak November night, 

For thy stars with stranger faces, 
Were hidden from our sight. 

Through weeks of weary camping, 

We had reached this lonely spot, 

i 
And even the hearts of the bravest 

Xow trembled at our lot. 

I'm a strong- man to face danger, 

And labor to me is play, 
And a little wholesome hunger 

I can bear without dismay. ^ 

I should have laughed at our hardships, 

Had I been alone in the train, 
But now I'd a wife and baby 
. In sickness and hunger and pain. 

My heart had broken this evening, 
When my little prattling May — 

Whom, to save from the jolts of the wagon, 
I had borne in my arms all day — 

Had said, " Papa, I'm weary, 
Pray get me something to eat; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 105 

I'm just as hungry as I can be, 

For something that's nice and sweet! " 

For days and days the darling 

Had been so sick and weak, 
For hours that were long and weary, 

I had borne her cheek to cheek. 
Close to my heart I pressed her, 

For I could not let her go, — 
We had laid two darlings in Rose Hill, 

But a little while ago. 

And now Ave sat by the camp-fire, 

With her head upon my knee; 
She was very still and patient, 

Though hungry as she could be. 
Oh the long, lone night before us, 

In which we could nothing do, 
Nothing but think in madness — 

God spare such hours to you. 

My wife by the fire sat moaning, 

With her head upon her hand; 
I knew she was thinking of leaving 

Our May in this desolate land. 



106 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But not one word of comfort 

Could I answer to her cry, 
For my heart was breaking, breaking, 

As the slow, sad hours went by. 

But all at once May whispered, 

"Papa, there are Carrie and Lu! 
I can hear them there in the bushes, 

They are coming to me and you! 
I've been asking God to send them, 

With something for us to eat, 
And now I hear them coming — 

I hope 't win be nice and sweet."-"- 

And sure enough, through the rushing 

Of the angry wind and rain, 
, We could hear the onward coming 

Of a home-returning train. 
They were making for our camp-fire, 

And they brought both food and cheer, 
And I thanked God, in the darkness, 

That such angels had been near. 

And my little prattling darling 
Had something nice and sweet; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 107 

But before she stopped to eat it, 

She knelt there at my feet, 
And said, " Dear God, I thank you 

For sending Carrie and Lu; 
If they had stayed a little longer, 

I'd have sent a kiss to you! " 

GERMANY WINS. 

[Written while the bells were still ringing over the news of Napoleon's 
surrender.] 

Ah, Germany, Germany, shout and cheer, 

Germany over the sea; 
Cheer and sing for Napoleon down, 

And the France which may now be free. 
Huzza! 

Prolong the cheer which now begins, 

Germany, Germany wins! 

Ah, Germany, Germany, shout again, 

Here, this side of the sea; 
Shout for the brothers over the waves, 

Who conquer so mightily. 
Huzza! 



108 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Anew, anew, the shout begins, 
Germany, Germany wins! 

Germany, Germany, shout and cheer, 

Germany, great and free, 
A proud, united and happy land, 

From mountain-top to sea. 
Huzza! 

For Freedom's reign ever begins 

Wherever Germany wins! 

Ah, Germany, Germany, weep and pray, 

Here and oyer the sea, 
"Weep for the homes that are rent and torn, 

In conquering mightily. 
Amen! 

Pray Heaven that peace begins 

Her reign when Germany wins. 

. BUINS. 

Over sea and over desert, 

Wandering many a weary mile, 

By the lordly banks of Ganges, 
By the swiftly-flowing Nile, — 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 109 

Travelers wander, seeking ever 

Ruins which may tales unfold, 
Of the rude barbaric splendor, 

Of the mystic days of old. 

And they watch with straining vision, 

Watch as pilgrims at a shrine, 
For a glimpse of those half-hidden 

Castled erases alon^ the Rhine. 
O'er all ancient lands they wander, 

Ever with a new delight, 
Seeking ruins which are sacred 

To their wonder-loving sight. 

And they know not there are ruins — 

Close at home — as thickly spread, — 
Strange as those that glimpses give them 

Of the ages that are dead. 
Crumbling fane and fallen turret, 

Ruined mosque or minaret, 
Have not half the depth of meaning 

Of those rains that are met, 

Everywhere, through all life's journey — 
Ruined lives and broken hearts, 



110 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Wrecks of manhood, far more shattered 
Than these fragments of lost arts; 

And we need not go to seek them 
Far from our own native land, 

For, unnoted and forsaken, 
With us many ruins stand. 

But when eyes and hearts are heavy 

Gazing on them, comes the thought, 
That though corniced aisle and column 

Soon shall crumble into naught, 
Still these darkened human ruins 

All rebuilt shall one day stand, ^ 
Beauteous fanes and noble structures, 

In our God's enduring land. 

MIDNIGHT. 

'T is midnight! midnight down by the sea, 

Terribly damp and lone, 
And sullen breakers rolling a-lee, 

Make a deep, mysterious moan; 
And nothing breaks the dismal roar, 

Save the nisrht-bird's dull too-hoo, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. Ill 

Or the sound of a fosr-bell on the shore, 

Or the shrieks of a sinking crew; 
Or, booming dismally over all, 

Despair's artillery, wildly free, 
Sounds over the waters and over the rocks — 

The minute-gun at sea. 

In midnight and darkness, 
Midnight and gloom, 
On their soft beds the landsmen sleep, 

But here will I pray till the coming of dawn, 
To God for the wanderers out on the deep. 

Here, on a midnight dark and damp, 

A gallant crew, and tried, 
Without a ray from the light-house lamp 

To cheer them as they died, 
Threw helpless arms above the waves, 

And wild shrieks on the air, 
Sunk warm within their nameless graves, 

Knelled but by mad despair. 
In that winter midnight fearful — dark, 

My love, my life, gave up his breath, 
And deeply sunk his stout life-bark, 

In the sullen sea of death. 



112 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

In midnight and darkness, 

Midnight and gloom, 
With no one anear to watch or to weep, 

My darling, my darling, my love and my life, 
Was lost in the rushing and hungry deep. 

And now, on a midnight dark and lone, 

I stand on the bleak sea coast, 
Waiting, waiting, with cry and moan, 

For my love to leave the host 
He is reveling with down under the waves, 

And come to me, brave and strong — 
But oh, will he leave those coral caves^ 

And the sea-nymphs' dance and song, 
And the pearls and gems of that ocean home, 

To wander with me once more? 
If ever he loved, I know he will come, 

For love would leave heaven's shore, 
For midnight and darkness, 
Midnight and gloom, 
If the one it loved should watch and weep; 

And so I will pray through the midnight here, 
To God for the wanderers out on the deep. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 11: 



THE BISHOP DEPOSED. 

Bishop, strip off your gown and bands, 

Lay your lawn sleeves forever by, 
Come down from yonder chancel rail, 

Read no more prayers henceforth, for aye. 
You are deposed — cast out, in truth, 

And done, too, as the church makes boast, 
With pomp and pageant, in the name 

Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 

Read you no more the marriage rite, 

Nor sacred service for the dead, 
Nor dare the little children bless, 

With holy hands upon the head. 
No more in stately sounding phrase, 

Chant praises to the heavenly host; 
You are deposed! and in the name 

Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 

Great heaven! what has this servant done? 
Has he the holy name profaned, 

Cursed God upon the altar stairs, 

Or with spilt blood the temple stained? 



114 A PPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Has he his hands with wrongful gain 
Soiled, or in dreadful mockc^ 

Taken God's name, that he should be 
Deposed by this great Trinity? 

Nay, nay; his hands are pure and clean, 

His heart is full of love to God, 
And he would fain, by word and deed, 

Scatter his precepts all abroad. 
He longs the glories to proclaim, 

Of saintly lives, and coming heaven, 
And fain would send to all mankind, 

The truths which God to man has given. 

Then why strip off his priestly robes, 

And take the Book and Gown away? 
Is not the human harvest white. 

And laborers scarce to fill the day? 
Are there not mourning eyes to dry, 

And dying ones to shrive and bless, . 
And many sinful to be won 

From out the world's dark wilderness? 

Yea, but this priest do.es not believe 
With us, precisely, as to forms; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 115 

Some phrases in the ritual, he 

Would change, and so the church informs 
The world, 'tis meet, with rite and psalm, 

To cast him down with sounding boast, 
And by the power, and in the name 

Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 

And with the ages looking on, 

The coming centuries from their heights, 
The deed was done, and history wrote 

The record down, and all the lights 
Of new-time science on it gleam; 

And with that bright and burning blaze 
Turned full on bigotry's dark page, 

It passes to the coming days. 

The coming days, when truth proclaimed 

From every height of life shall be, 
And every loyal soul shall speak, 

From chain, and bond, and trammel, free; 
No more to creeds and forms, a slave, 

With mighty words, the grand world-plan, 
Shall sound from pure, anointed lips, 

Of love to God, and love to man. 



116 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



REST. 

Of all the sweet, sad words of life, 

Whose every sound is blest, 
The one most like a benison, 

Is that sweet love-word, Rest. 
We grow so weary on life's road, 

Climbing its heights so steep, 
That it will blessed seem to seek 

The Shadow-Land of Sleep. 

E'en that sweet valley of the world, 

The Happy-Eand of -Love, * 

When we have walked a while therein 

Doth full of sadness prove; 
And many souls pass from the vale, 
' Crying with hearts oppressed, 
The saddest thing of life is Love, 
The sweetest thing is Rest. 

The fairest spots along life's road 
Are where low willows weep, 

And the one place for smiles should be 
Where our beloved sleep. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 117 

Ah, friends! of all the boons we crave, 

Few make us truly blest; 
The best of all, He gives unasked 

In His own time — His Rest. 

WAITING. 

How many human hearts are sitting 

With idle folded hands, 
Gazing far a-down the life-beach, 

On the arid sands, 
Waiting, waiting, all inactive, 

While the white sands round them burn, 
For a breath from fortune's trade-winds, 

Or for life's wild tide to turn. 

And how sadly some are sitting 

By firesides damp and cold, 
Gazing backward through the distance, 

On the days of old, — 
Waiting, waiting, sad and restless, 

For some loved one to come back, 
Who has strayed with sinful footsteps 

In the dark forbidden track. 



118 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

By warm hearthstones some are sitting, 

With gladsome, cheerful souls, 
Listening to the Sea Eternal, 

That so near them rolls, — 
Waiting, waiting, glad and joyful, 

To fold up their frail life-tent, 
And remove to those blest mansions, 

Lovely, pure and permanent. 

LOST AND FOUND, 

She was standing^ there in the gaslight, 

Near the church's open door, 
For the music within, though sacred, 

Was far too dear for the poor. 
A strain of ineffable sweetness 

She had sung in those other days, 
Ere she left the paths of pleasantness. 

To walk in the miry ways. 

She was loitering there for evil, 
She was watching the passers-by, 

And lying in wait like a devil, 
Some fresh new soul to buy, — 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 119 

When the sound of the rolling organ 

Had caught her hardened ear, 
And a passionate longing filled her, 

Crouching near the door to hear. 

A longing intense and eager, 

A wild and fierce desire, 
For those early days of innocence, 

When she sat with the village choir 
In the rustic church, where the singers 

Were all so happy and young, 
And where she had sat with her lover, 

And the sacred songs had sung. 

She thought of the cot where the woodbine 

Climbed over the rustic porch, 
And the grassy path down the roadside, 

That led to the little church, 
Where they had walked together, 

Humming the old songs o'er — 
The dear old songs, so loved, so sung, 

In the dim days of yore. 

Far different songs had been ringing 
These many years in her brain, 



120 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But now the old sweet music 

Flooded her heart again; 
The grand triumphal melodies 

Of those old and happy days, 
Rang out and seemed to call her 

To new and better ways. 

And the blessed words of the Master, 

She had chanted in days of yore, 
Now rang like the call of Heaven — ■ 

" Go sin no more, no more." 
And a passer-by on the pavement, 

Through the gaslight's glimmering glare, 
Saw a strange new light upon her face, 

As she knelt a moment there. 

LOW TIDE. 

Low is the tide of life, to-day, 

The rocks of woe loom bare and high, 

And sea-gulls spring athwart the surf, 
With wings that darken as they fly. 

The very shells upon life's beach 
Sing songs of sadness and of woe, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 121 

And white-topped waves of joy retreat, 
While darkened waters round me flow. 

Life's sands left naked to my gaze, 

Seem deep and treacherous sands of sin, 

And saddened wails around me rise, 

From those whose feet have sunk therein. 

And sheeted ships seem bearing near, 

Then pass again beyond the sight, 
Deceitful phantoms, only formed 

To add to blackness, and to blight. 

And gazing with a wild unrest, 

Upon the blue waves' dash and roar, 

I view alone the maddening waste, 
I cannot see the other shore. 



BY THE IB FBUITS. 

I sat within the crowded church, 

AVhere wealth and fashion gather most, 

And heard the choir, with voices sweet, 
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 



122 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Fair was the scene, and sweet the strain, 
And every head so low was bowed; 

I felt as if the heavenly dove 

Was hovering softly o'er the crowd. 

And as the voices, clear and strong, 

Sang peace on earth, good will to men, 

I thrilled to think the whole, vast crowd 
Responded in their hearts, i\men. 

And as the white-robed priest intoned 
The lesson, with his voice subdued — 

The wondrous siory of the Man A 

Whose life was spent in doing good. 

I felt as if each heart was moved, 

. And would go forth resolved to try 
To soothe the suffering and the woe, 
Which ever round about us lie. 

I passed from out the crowded church, 
And lingered idly near the door, 

And saw, half crouching in the snow, 
A woman, haggard, worn and poor. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 1 23 

Her face was seamed with want and woe, 

Listless despair was in her eye, 
And, with a voice of piteous tone, 

She begged of those who passed her by: 



6 My little children starve and freeze, 

I pray you help and succor me." 
: Ah, now," I thought, " they'll think of H 



nn 



Who walked of old in Galilee. 

" How gladly will they hail the call 

To follow in the way he trod, 
How joyfully their feet press in 

The footsteps of the Christ of God." 

But how rny heart sank as I saw 

One after one pass coldly by, 
Gathering their robes away from her 

With scornful or averted eye. 

No word of cheer, no kindly aid, 
By any in the crowd was given; 

They could not think of things below, 

Their thoughts were all intent on Heaven! 



124 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And so the woman turned away 

From where the saints assemble most, 

And still the sweet-voiced choir did chant, 
To Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 

"Ah me! " I cried, " how blind I was! 

These people cannot do the whole; 
Sinners must suffering bodies aid, 

And leave the saints to save the soul!" 

Homeward I turned, and there my child 
Sat with the Book upon her knee, 

And read, "As^ye have done to these 
The least, so have ye done to me." 

A BROKEN LIFE. 

Room for a brother down 'mid the mosses, 
Gently, his head rest, on the red roses; 

Room for a brother 'mid the white crosses, 
Where man at last from his labor reposes. 

Tired were his feet, and his hands were awearj T , 
Scarcely cared he to contend any longer; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 125 

Lone was his life, and his heart had grown dreary — 
Stern enough, life, to those who are stronger. 

Youth still was his, without youth's successes, 
Health it had flown, and hope was in danger, 

Sweet household joy, that gladdens and blesses, 
To his lone heart must henceforth be a stranger. 

Gone from his path were the old cherished faces, 
Lips he had kissed, and blessed in the kissing; 

Al 1 of the sweet and womanly graces, 
Henceforth in life must ever be missing-. 

Who, then, would keep him, though twice friend and 
brother? 

Nowhere, in all of the wide world expanses, 
-For such a life, could we e'er find another 

Place half so sweet, as here under the pansies. 

Here the cold world will be cruel no longer, 

No summons to toil will e'er startle the sleeper; 

Here will remembrance grow sweeter and stronger, 
As friends kneel and pray that his sleep may be 
deeper. 



126 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

THE TURNING OF THE BRIDGE. 

Chicago — Summer of 1877. 

There's a mob abroad in the street, 

Plunder and rapine and wrong, 
Houses aflame in their track, 

A murd'rous, malevolent throng. 
Women wild, mad, with affright, 

Children crying for bread, 
Wretches thronging the street 

With fearful and ominous tread. 

Law, with its handful of men, 

Pressing the heels of the mob, 
And over each step they advance, 

The alleys shudder and sob. 
Now they are nearing a bridge — 

The fiendish rabble and rout, — : 
They cross, and then open it wide, 

With a shrill and demoniac shout. 

Now they have baffled pursuit — 
Now they can slink to their lairs, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 127 

Law and good order may sink, 

And the Devil take charge of affairs. 

List! if ye dare, to the howl! 
God! how it blanches the cheek 

To think of this mad, monstrous mob, 
In power o'er the helpless and weak. 

But look, who is this on the bridge? 

Bringing it slowly to place, 
Bullets swift whizzing o'er head, 

And the threatening mob in his face. 
Only a boy, frail and weak — 

Only a lad like your own — 
Merciful heaven! shall he fall? 

Bullet, and bludgeon and stone! 

No! see! he has brought it to place! 

How the wild demons do yell! 
And over the bridge he has held 

Swarm the pursuers and swell. 
Law and good order prevail, 

Though some widows sit in their weeds, 
And these maddened and desperate men, 

Are saved from more hideous deeds. 



128 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

All hail to this hero of mine! 

Nor let time his just glory abridge. 
Let all, old and young, tell the tale, 

Of his gallantly Turning the Bridge. 
He shall live with the hero's of old, 

In legend, and story and rhyme, 
None have dared a more valorous deed, 

On the battle-fields famous of time. 



THE VOICE OF ONE OF LITTLE FAITH. 

Small faith have v I in forms and creeds, 

Perhaps too little faith in prayer, 
I sometimes read the written word, 

And find confused meanings there. 
I do not joy, as many do, 

In chanting praises long and loud; 
I hesitate to bow the knee 

In any thoughtless, kneeling crowd; 
I cannot tell to God in words 

His greatness, and His mighty power; 
I hardly know if He be near 

And round about me every hour; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 129 

I have no vivid picture made 

Within my mind, of coming heaven — 
Of what the saints and angels do, 

And what to us will there be given. 
I freely own my faith is small, 

My doubts are many — to my grief, 
I can but cry, "Lord, I believe! 

Help thou my unbelief ! " 

And yet I sometimes think what faith 

I have, is better for my needs, 
Being mine, than all that is expressed 

In others' long and wordy creeds. 
And if I worship from afar, 

While others wish to worship near, — 
If I set God off, like a star, 

While others place him with us here, — 
Perhaps the shadowy and dim 

Inspires a reverence in my breast, 
Which nothing near and present could, 

And so, to me, my thought is best. 
And, though I do not kneel in crowds, 

And cry, " Lord! Lord! " in many keys, 



130 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Yet doth my heart go forth to him, 
In many other ways than these. 

The hallelujah of the winds, 

The chant of sunset, and the hymn, 

Endless and grand, of the wide sea, 
Embody prayers from me to Him. 

And if my eyes cannot discern 

His hand, in every small detail 
Of life and death, as others can, 

Em thankful, that I do not fail 
To note them, in the wider range 

Of laws, which hold the earth and skies 
Through all the round of time and change, 

Un comprehended by our eyes. 
And if my Heaven is dim, and far, 

And shadowy to these mortal eyes, 
It seems more glorious thus to me — 

Away, away, beyond the skies. 
Not round, about us, like the air, 

Not open to these prying eyes, 
But on the lofty, distant heights, 

Eternally serene, it lies. 



A PPLE-BLOSSOMS. 131 

I would not make my heaven more real, 

Nor make the world accept my dream; 
Unto each soul its own is best, 

And cold and hard all others seem. 
And while I silently move on 

In my own way, I gladly bless 
All fellow-pilgrims on the road, 

Though widely different paths they press* 
And if upon the lonely track — 

For lonely 't is to every soul — 
I find some struggling one to help, 

Some soul to forward toward the goal, 
Some one who, naked, poor, and bound, 

Is waiting for a hand to save, — 
I trust my works may then atone 

For any lack of faith I have. 

UNLOVED, 

Brown eyes, and pale, pale face — 

A wondrous face, that never beauty had, 

And yet is beautiful — she is not young, 
Nobody loves her, and her face is sad. 



132 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Brown hair, wherein to-day 

She found just one bright silver thread had crept; 
Smile ye who will, 't was sad enough to her — 

Poor woman, she drew out the thread and wept. 

'Tis sad enough to see 

A gray hair come when husband arms are thrown 
Around a woman, and soft, tender eyes 

Answer back love to glances of our own. 

But when one stands alone 

Upon the bleak, rock-cragged shores of time, 
A woman, to whom no one whispers low 

Soft household words, sweeter than poet's rhyme; 

Nor ever lays a hand 

With soft caressing touch upon her head; 
To these, the very saddest of G-od's sad, 

Old age comes freighted with a double dread. 

Soft eyes have these unloved, 

And tender faces, looking holy things; 
They are not always like this one, unwed, 

On some of their white hands gleam wedding-rings. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 1 33 

Yet not the less unloved, 

As their sad eyes and drooping lids attest, 
And by the side of wedded loveless wives, 

E'en those who stand alone are richly blest. 

But it is sad to see 

Any true woman whom our God has made, 
Standing unloved within this world of ours, 

Unblest by that for which alone she prayed. 

Sad, sad it is to see 

Hands which are pure and loving, all unprest, 
Lips made for loving uses, all un kissed, 

And hearts which long to worship, die unblest. 

x umrs confession. 

I committed a sin many years ago — 

A wrong that was treacherous and cruel; 

Temptation and I walked to and fro, 

And at last to a deadly field did go, 
And alas, I went down in the duel. 

I own I did not fight as I ought — 

We can always win when such fight is fought. 



134 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But this sin I committed long ago, 

Was the sweetest sin in my life's career. 
It seemed to me both precious and fair, 
And I covered it up from the world with care, 

And it seemed the world to me to endear. 
I had great success and a worldly name, — 
It was outward — honor, and inward — shame! 

For this sin I committed far aback — 

Though the sweetest sin in my whole life's story, 

Though I covered it deftly up, alack! 

Has followed stealthily on my track, 

Has marred and embittered, all my glory. 

It seems to me very hard of Fate 

For a mortal thus to lie in wait. 

Yet I own 't was a wrong of the deepest dye, 
And I write it thus in my history; 

But why God should look with so keen an. eye, 

Or a stumbling mortal's poor cause try 
So relentlessly, is a mystery. 

If we repent, why not blot it out? 

And I have repented past a doubt. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 135 

Yet this sin I committed long ago, 
Still follows me with unsparing rigor; 

I cannot escape it, wherever I go, 

But up and down, and to and fro, 
It follows me with terrible vigor, 

And now I even begin to doubt 

If death itself will blot it out. 

Yet this sin of mine, though a darling sin, 
Was done half in ignorance, I contend, 
Still for this reason it never hath been 
Less heavily punished, and never will win 

Forgiveness, till expiation shall end. 
Be it here or yonder, I hardly know, 
But God follows me closely here below. 

THE SEBEJSTADERS. 

A party of wandering singers 

Are walking the moon-lit street, 
And anon at the windows singing, 

With voices mellow and sweet. 
Ah, merry and gay serenaders, 

As I look from my window above, 



136 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

I wish there were naught in the world below 
But moonlight, and music, and love. 

But these piquant wandering gypsies, 

With their notes so ringing and bold, 
Have waked in my heart the echo 

Of a sorrow both new and old; 
They have stirred tne pulse of a memory, 

As I looked from my window above, 
Of a time when the world held naught for me 

But moonlight, and music, and love. 

The years are many and saddened, 

Between that Dream-Life and this, 
But to-night I feel in the moonlight 

The thrill of a lover's kiss; 
And eyes of dark and passionate depth 

Look into mine from above, 
And again, as of old, there 's naught on earth 

But moonlight, and music, and love„ 

Ah, piquant and sweet serenaders! 

Sing blithely the while ye may; 
Our youth is the time for love and song, 

So be gay, be gay, be gay! 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 137 

For there will come a time to ye all, 
When a work-clay life will prove . 

That there 's many another thing below, 
Than moonlight, and music, and love. 

SEWING FOR BEE AD. 

Up in a garret, far and high, 

Dusky and dim, though so near the sky, 

Reached by a stairway ugly and worn, 

Up which many burdens were daily borne — 

Burdens without and burdens within, 

Burdens of sorrow, and burdens of sin, 

Past m*ny doors where poverty hid, 

Past many rooms where light was forbid, 

Past doors where sin hid securely from sight 

Through the long day, awaiting the night, 

Past men and women whose touch could defile, 

Past little children, grown almost as vile, 

Past old and young, who know all the dark nooks 

Of the great wicked city the garret o'erlooks, 

Sat sweet Edith, with eyes that were red 

With watching and weepings sewing for bread. 



138 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Starry eyes, that are bonny and brown, 

Beautiful tresses, billowing down, 

Beautiful shoulders, snowy and white, 

Beautiful hands, so tiny and light. 

But the beautiful eyes no mother hath blest, 

And the beautiful tresses no father caressed, 

And the little hands, so soft and so white, 

Must toil for bread from morning till night; 

And every time that the tiny feet 

Reach the gay and beautiful street, 

She mast pass by the doors of the wicked and vile, 

And the men and women whose touch would defile, 

And feel by the contrast with all that she meets 

Out in the bright bewildering streets, 

What a wearisome, wearisome life is led 

Away in a garret, sewing for bread. 

Edith has been at the church, to-day — 
She goes sometimes to the church to pray, 
Finding it easier to say her prayer 
In the aisle than up the garret stair, — 
And to-day she has seen a beautiful bride, 
With eyes of light, and a step of pride, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 139 

All in a shimmer of satin and lace, 

Moving on with enchanting grace, 

And Edith thought, as she gazed and gazed, 

With eyes that with splendor were dazzled and dazed, 

How very easy it were to be good, 

If she stood in the place where the young bride stood, 

And how very easy it is to be bad, 

And how cruel a struggle she has had, 

To conquer the Tempter who has led 

So many astray who were sewing for bread. 

Ah, Edith, Edith, could you but know 

The heart of the bride you envy so, — 

How it hides a terrible sorrow and shame, 

Which she sometimes longs to boldly proclaim, 

And be rid of the horrible, horrible dread 

That ever is hanging over her head; 

How, day and night, Remorse and Shame, 

Do deadly battle within her frame, — 

You would joy, poor thing, in your humble lot, 

And your lowly name without a. blot. 

Ah! could you but know, that though humble and poor, 

And treading a pathway most obscure. 



140 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

You are richer and grander far than she, 
And your crown will far more dazzling be, 
After the satin and pearls have fled, 
And you are no longer sewing for bread. 

Ah, little by outward look alone 

Of the wonderful human heart is known, — ■ 

Of the pangs it bears, of the fears it knows,. 

Its secret tears, or its buried woes. 

Little we think of the terrible force 

Of gnawing passion and fierce remorse, 

Which, under some face so calm and cold, 

The heart in its merciless grip may hold. ^ 

Ah! half our envy would melt away, 

Could the masks be taken off for a day, 

And under the weight of gems and gold 

We could the innermost heart behold. 

And often the pity which we bestow 

On the lot of the lowly here below, 

Would be changed to pleasure could we but see 

How calm and peaceful a life may be, 

Wherein abideth content and trust, 

And the deep assurance that God is just. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 141 

W0BK8. 

When I read of the blessed Master, 



Through all the story strange, 
That glows through all the ages, 

As onward still they range, 
The part whereon I linger, 

And read again and again, 
Tells of his helpful wanderings 

Among the sons of men. 

I see him heal the leper, 

And raise the Magdalen, 
And sitting, eating and drinking, 

With humble, outcast men. 
I watch him at the wedding, 

And I joy to see him thus; 
Not more divine he seemeth 

At the grave of Lazarus. 

I see him on the Sabbath, 
Pluck the ripe ears of corn, 

And aid the weary, fishers, 
As they toil until the morn, 



142 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Or bless the little children, 

As the mother's round him press, 

Or cast the rag-ins* devils 

From the women they possess. 

Oh, holy are his footsteps 

On the plains of Galilee, 
And sacred are his teachings 

To his followers by the sea, 
But though much I prise the lessons 

That he taught them as he led, 
Yet I ever love the better, 

What he tlid than what he said. 

And now, when I grow weary 

Of the sermon and the prayer, 
The long and bitter discussions, 

"Who the Christian name should bear, 
T turn back to the Teacher, 

And all wearying doubt recedes; 
And I cry, "They are his children 

Who do his holy deeds! " 

Ah, friends, some are believers 
By birth-right, but some find 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 143 

Faith hard, and carry always 

Doubt's burden on the mind. 
For these in simple trusting, 

The thought within me lurks, 
That God can save without the faith, 

But not without the works. 

MY HEAVEN. 

Each soul has its own fair ideal 

Of the world we shall find at life's close, 
As some in a garden pluck lilies, 

While some will have naught but a rose. 
As for me, other people's ideals 

Are more dreary than language can tell, 
And the psalm-singing Heaven of the preacher, 

To me w 7 ould be very like hell. 

My picture of Heaven is shadowy, 

An outline, a hint — nothing more; 
I scarcely know how I shall finish, 

But this foreground will stand evermore. 
All the friends of my life will be gathered — 

Enough one whole being to fill; 



144 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

The friends that I never have tired of, 
Whose presence I feel with a thrill. 

From far-away nooks and odd corners, 

I shall bring those whose presence can heal; 
Good-fellowship in ev'ry hand grasp — 

Not many, but loving and leal. 
And then as we sit there together, 

I care not what else may be given, 
For to me and to these my beloved, 

Sitting side by side thus, will be Heaven. 

THE CRY OF THE MOTHERS. 

There's a voice abroad of wailing, 

A cry of weeping and woe, 
. And forever and forever, 

I hear it where'er I go. 
'Tis a wail prolonged and dismal, 

And deep as the voice of the sea, 
And it rises from city, and hamlet, 

From alley, and valley, and lea. 
The cry begins in the morning, 

And lingers the livelong day, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 145 

And all the hours of the night-time 

Its echo dies not away. 
And what is this terrible wailing, 

This terrible weeping and woe, 
Which rises forever, and ever, 

And greets me wherever I 0*0? 
'Tis the wailing cry of the mothers, 

A sad and tearful host, — 
They are weeping sore for their daughters — 

For their daughters who are lost, 
And the cry is wild and dreadful — 

The cry of lost, lost, lost! 

Some sit by pleasant hearthstones, 

In lone secluded spots, 
And some in mansions stately, 

And some in lowly cots; 
But all, both high and lowly, 

Have eyes as sad as the tomb, 
And ever refuse to listen 

To comfort in their gloom. 
And the first thought in the morning, 

And the last thought in the night, 



10 



146 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

t : And the thought that comes before them, 

When they pray for God's blessed light, 
Is a thought of terrible anguish, 

Of terrible, terrible woe — 
The thought of a sinless maiden, 

Who to sin and shame did go". 
And so they wail, the mothers — 

A sad and tearful host, — 
Wail for their sinful daughters, 

For their daughters who are lost. 

And who hears this voice of waiting, 

This cry that seems to rise 
To the far-off pitiless heavens, 

Till tears bedew its eyes? 
Does the Tempter of the sinless, 

Who beguiled the child away, 
Feel the deep force of the mother's curse, 

As he goes on his careless way? 
Do the fallen daughters hear it, 

In their shameless, low estate? 
Do the tempted and the yielding 

Hear, and pause ere 't is too late? 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 147 

Does this terrible terrible wailing, 

This terrible weeping and woe, 
Ring in their ears forever, 

And haunt them wherever they go? 
Do they heed the cries and wailing 

Of this sad and tearful host, 
Who are crying for their daughters — 

For their daughters who are lost? 

No; this weary, weary wailing, 

The Tempter never hears. 
Nor knows the woe of his triumph 

Through dark and dismal years. 
And the daughters never hear it, 

For if memory once begin 
To touch their hearts, they drown it 

In deeper cups of sin. 
And the tempted do not hear it, 

For their love drowns every cry, 
And every voice of warning 

Floats all unheeded by. 
But this terrible, terrible wailing, 

This terrible weeping and woe, 



148 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

God hears in his far-off heaven, 

As he looks on all below; 
Hears the wailing; of the mothers — ■ 

This sad and tearful host, 
Who are crying for their daughters, 

For their daughters who are lost; 
Hears the cry so wild and dreadful — 

The cry of lost, lost, lost! 

THE GOLDEN LIGHT. 

Oh, beautiful the moonlight lies 
Upon the world, to-night, 

Upon the wild and wintry world, 
Clothed in the garments light 

Of fairy frost and silvery snow, 
Sheeny and soft and white. 

The deep blue fields of heaven are sown 
With glittering golden stars; 

The lilies of the Pleiades 

Through white clouds fleecy bars 

Peer out. and faintly smile upon 
That scarlet poppy, Mars. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 149 

Ah. little faith we need to-night, 

To find in yonder sky 
The Heaven of our fondest dreams; 

It lies before our eye 
Serene, supernal, and sublime, 

And glows resplendently. 

Scarce fairer can the city be 

Whose streets are paved with gold; 

Scarce more effulgently can gleam 
The lights which there unfold 

The splendor of those radiant streets, 
Which we by faith behold. 

Thus sitting in this wondrous light, 

I marvel at the eyes 
Which blind and careless upward gaze, 

And find no sweet surprise, 
No joy, no wonder, in the great 

Glory which round them lies. 

Oh, can the New Jerusalem, 

When they its glories see, 
Delight their dull and earthy hearts? 

Or will its wonders be 



150 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But tiresome pictures to the eyes 
Which have not learned to see? 

Surely, the soul which sees below, 
With earnest, loving eyes, 

All the great heart of this fair world, 
To loftier heights will rise, 

Than will the dull and thoughtless one, 
In yonder gleaming skies. 

Oh, golden light! oh, light of stars! 

Gleam thou into our soul, 
And scatter all low dreams and airfis, 

With thy divine control, 
That evermore through us the waves 

Of high pure thought may roll. 

CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 

Often I think of the lonely years, 

Passed on the solemn English moors, 
By the lonely woman, whose fierce, hot tears 
Scald yet, in the pages wherein appears 
Power that forever endures. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 151 

A lonely woman, from childhood on, 

With a tragic spirit keyed for pain, 
With a weird, wild household, whose light was gone, 
And who groped in darkness which knew no dawn, 

Nor hoped for the sun again. 

A gray old house that was stern and sad, 
And the gloomy inmates sadder still, 

Only the moors with their wild bloom she had, 

Ever to waken a feeling glad 
In a life so somber and chill. 

How the wild storm swept over the manse, 

When the snows without lay white and cold! 
And not a track, in the whole expanse, 
Which led to the house, for seldom chance 
Led a friend to the house so old. 

And there in the long, cold winter nights, 

Sat the lonely woman, with heart aflame, 
Making for life a desperate fight, 
With the inward foes who grappled so tight, 
And earning a deathless fame. 



152 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Death came, and a sorrow worse than death, 

To the old gray manse, with its scenes of strife; 
And more than once she had felt the breath 
Of a terrible terror, whose power hath 
Been felt but by few in life. 

Only one little glimpse had she 

Of the brighter side of this life of o.:;rs; 

Ah! only a little time to be 

In the joy of love, and a spirit free, 

And the knowledge of glorious powers. 

Then the dread summons which all obey, * 
Called her away from the sunny weather, 
Summoned her from her new-found day 
To the darkness of cloisters, hid away 
Deep under the purple heather. 

CONSOLATION. 

The scarlet hues of life have faded, 

Its web is now but ashen gray, 
Floods from the cloud of Destiny 

Have washed its brightness all away. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 153 

The sea-shell tints life's morning wore — 
The early morn of youth — were fair, 

But deepened with the deepening years, 
Till they were bright beyond compare. 

But when, in the high flush of youth, 
The blood-red days of loving came, 

The fabric grew one cloth of gold, 
Its colors dazzling like a flame. 

But when the storms of Circumstance 

With raging force upon it beat, 
Day after day, and hour by hour, 

Its fforo-eous hues began to fleet. 

And now this somber web of life 

Has scarce one rosy thread of joy; 
Life has no thrill, has little hope, 

And not one good without alloy. 

Yet, though my spirit sometimes feels 

There is a pang in every breath, 
I have one hope, one comfort left, — 

It is that I believe in death. 



154 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

One day this wearied form will be 

Laid down where weeping willows wave; 

There is no work, and no device 
Or trouble in the dreamless grave. 

THE NATION'S DEAD. 

Alas! in all the land our dead lie hid! 

Alike the meadow gay, and common bare, 
And verdant hillside flecked with snowy bloom, 

The work of hiding death devoutly share. 

By each calm stream that takes its winding way 
Through fertile lands unto its home the sea, 

Some sleeper, worn and weary, takes his rest, 
From all the pain of being, haply free. 

And heavy are the wide fields yet with dread 
Where thousands perished in a single day; 

Half-buried some, and some but barely hid 
Beneath the soil where raged the fearful fray. 

The Wilderness in its wild shades holds some, 
And Lookout Mountain sentinels yet more; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 155 

The Mississippi chants its rhythmic mass 

O'er thousands, cypress-shrouded, on its shore. 

The dandelions in each churchyard hide 

Some forms that weak and worn came home to die; 

Yea; scarce a household that hath not its grave, 
Wherein its soldier boy doth calmly lie. 

Sacred the whole broad land has thus become, 
And consecrate to freedom and to God; 

A Holy Land to all the coming time, 
A land by feet of holy martyrs trod. 

Oh, dead! thus lying spread from sea to sea, 
The work ye did is worthy of your death. 

Enfranchised millions shout in glad acclaim, 

The whole earth ring's, and high Heaven echoeth. 

O ' . c5 

Oh, lonely graves; unnoted and forgot! 

Nature, her tireless watch o'er you will keep, 
Will fold you in her sunshine's wavy gold, 

And wrap you in her mosses rich and deep. 

Spring-time will hang her chaplets blue and white, 
Of daisies and of violets, o'er your moss, 



156 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And Summer's richer glory will supply 

To every nameless grave its fragrant cross. 

And regal winter, with its reverent hand, 
Will scatter gems of peerless radiance down, 

And with majestic lavishness will hang 

Above each grave a glittering starry crown. 

ETHEL'S QUESTIONS. 

Oh, friend my heart in sweetest memory holdeth 

Through these long years that we have dwelt apart, 

In the soft light that falling twilight foldeth 
Around me, I ask questions of my heart. 

Questions which only in the dim, pale twilight, 

I dare to put, even to my inmost soul; 
Questions which the hard day and garish sunlight 

Ne'er summon from the depths of self-control. 

I ask myself at times in these dim musings, 

When the restraints and masks we wear by day 

Are laid aside, and all the weary usings 
To which we lend ourselves, are laid away, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS, 157 

If in that distant time, so dim and golden, 
So brief, yet so inwrought with all my days — 

That time which, though still young, I call the olden — 
Thou ever loved'st me; not with We that stays 

Through life and death, with soui and body parting, 
But with the common love of common men; 

If through thy life-nlood now and then went darting 
The thrill that gave its charm to being then. 

If all the passionate love I lavished on thee, 

In secret, and in silence, and in tears, 
Cast any least enthralling spell upon thee, 

Of dreams, of happy tumults, and of fears. 

Think'st thou it strange I care to ask it, after 
All these lone years have floated by, and fled 

Is that old-time, with all its tears and laughter, 
And that fond dream, though sweet, so long since fled? 

Strange it may be; and yet, here in the twilight, 
With solemn shadows flickering to and fro, 

I feel as if a wave of golden sunlight 

Would flood my heart even yet, could I but know 



158 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Thou loved'st me in those days we passed together- 
Those days so bright so beautiful, so blest, 

And that some memory of that sunny weather 
Yet lingers with its fragrance in thy breast. 

Oh, friend so loved, and in my heart so shrined, 
I would some faint, far tone might come to me 

From thy great distance, and with it entwined 
Only the whisper, "I remember th^e! " 

I know our lives are parted, as death parteth, 
That never more their currents may unite; 

Yet in all lonely times, with tears there staf teth, 
The thought of thee, even in my own despite. 

BENEBICITE. 

Father Anselmo sat beside his door, 
Just as the purple lights of eve fell o'er 
Venice, so beautiful from sea or shore. 

The glowing sunset lingered in the West, 
And trailing clouds of crimson softly pressed 
The outlined darkness of a mountain crest. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 159 

Afar, the sea glowed like a tide of gold, 
And shimmering in soft splendor, did enfold 
The shore, and both her hands in greeting hold. 

Afar he heard the sad voice of a bell, 

Like one in sorrow which he tries to tell, 

Through the still streets with solemn pulsing swell. 

Far off, the song of some gay gondolier 

With the sad bell chimed in, and far and near, 

The double echo struck the listening ear. 

Father Anselmo, listening, seemed to bend; 

" Ah! thus," he cried, " do earth and heaven blend 

In the mad thoughts that tempt me to my end. 

As soft and gentle as that sweet-voiced bell, 

This dire temptation evermore doth tell 

Its thrilling tale, whose steps take hold on hell, — 

That earthly love with heavenly may abide, 
Within the soul, may flourish side by side, 
And heaven not be outraged nor God defied. 



160 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

This doth the Tempter say, with voice more sweet 
Than that of lapsing waters where they meet, 
And break in kisse~ at the daisies' feet. 

Oh, God! that any lie should be so fair, 
So heavenly in its tones, such deadly snare 
To lure a soul on to such deep despair! 

Yet I am given over to this lie, 

It haunts me like a devil's naming eye, 

Although in God's name I do it defy. 

All night I scourge myself within my cell, 
All day do penance such as none may tell, 
And in my soul foretaste the pains of hell. 

Yet will this sore temptation not depart, 
But still this sinful love doth fill my heart, 
And will abide till soul and body part. 

God help me! it is weary years since first 
I saw this radiant being who hath nursed 
Within my soul this passion so accursed. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 161 

I heard her voice singino; a sacred strain — 
It thrilled me, yet I heard and heard again, 
Gaining each time new pleasure and new pain. 

Next at confessional 1 heard her voice, 
Making my very soul within rejoice 
That for this sacred trust I was her choice. 

Ah me! how beautiful she was, and mild; 
How radiant her face was when she smiled, 
A halo round it like the Holy Child. 

Her voice, soft as the chime of lily bells; 
Her color, like the inmost pink of shells; 
Her eyes, the home where all enchantment dwells. 

And yet I think that I might have made way 
Against my passion, but that day by day 
I saw her yielding to my gentle sway. 

And such bewildering joy it came to be, 
To feel her leaning all so trustfully, 
And giving all her young life up to me, 
11 



1(52 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

That madly I rushed on upon my fate, 

And loved her, with such love as makes us hate 

Both God and man, would they our love abate. 

And saddest of it all, she too doth love, 

With all the strength given woman from above, 

How much God loves, to the poor earth to prove. 

Christ, help me! how can I to her atone, 

For stealing what to woman's heart makes known 

The joys Heaven gives to faithful hearts alone. 

Would God that I might hold her to my breast, 
And we might from Vesuvius' burning crest 
Leap to a dreamless and eternal rest. 

But no; eternal rest can never be; 

We cannot die; live on we must, and see 

The end of this sad chance, to her, to me. 

' Hath God no mercy in those depths of skies? 
Is there within the world no sacrifice 
Which will my sin atone?' my spirit cries." 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 163 

In his fierce anguish, on the ground he fell, 
While softly on the air the distant bell 
Seemed chiming in his ear, "All, all is well." 

'Thank heaven! " he sighed, " I take it for a sign. 

God calls me to his Heaven, and I resign 

All earthly thoughts and hopes; his will, not mine." 

His wan face softened, and the fading light 
Fell on his upturned eyes, so large, so bright, 
You almost deemed that God had filled his sight. 

And when the brothers came at vesper time, 
They found him prone, and as the bells did chime, 
On his dead features shone a joy sublime. 



THOUGHT AND SPEECH. 

One eve, when flushed the western sky, 
With glories angels joy to see, 
On wings of thought my soul rose free, 

And in exultant joy soared high. 



164 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

A friend bent on me eager glance; 
My hands were folded listlessly, 
My eyes on things I did not see, 

High thought held all my soul in trance. 

He questioned what my thought might be; 
I answered — not what filled my heart, 
But, laughing, made with ready art, 

Some gay and mocking repartee. 

My friend released me with his eye — 
My idle words his soul had chilled; 
Hungry, and waiting to be filled, *• 

His heart was shrunk at light reply. 

While mine was aching to unfold 
Itself in larger, freer speech, 
And with its deeper thought to reach 

Some other heart— to reach and hold. 

But custom, and the iron chain 
Of habit, closely held my lips; 
And so I gave my finger-tips, 

With the whole hand withheld in pain. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. W 

Ah me! how idle is our speech! 

Our deeper thought it hides away, 

And what it brings unto the day, 
And to our friend and comrade's reach, 

So worthless is, that silence grows 

To seem the better to the mind, 

So hardly we expression find, — 
We hide grand thoughts, and no friend knows. 

COMMONPLACE. 

Oh how wearily the days 

Sometimes drag themselves along, 

Through the old and common ways, 
When no life is in the song, 

And no thrill is in the air, 

And the old and common care 

Lies about us, everywhere. 

Oh, how bitterly we dread, 
When we waken in the morn, 

To take up the same old thread 
Of the life-work so forlorn : 



166 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And how wearily we weave, 
And how little should we grieve 
Were we called this toil to leave. 

But how otherwise it seems, 

When our hearts are waked and stirred 
By all grand and noble dreams, 

Or by some inspiring word; 
When the beautiful and true 
Thrill our being through and through, 
And ennoble all we do. 

Then how every common duty 
Finds rich favor in our eyes, 

And the world of work is beauty, 
And our labor sacrifice; 

And from out the tangled skein 

Cometh order once again, — 

Cometh perfectness from pain. 

Oh, how sadly do we need 

Some grand purpose in our lives, 

Some strong faith that gives no heed 
To the doubt that in us strives, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 1G7 

But can see in all our days 
Opportunities to raise 
Every soul to better ways. 

Oh that this one central thought 
Still may fill our starving souls — 

That whatever may be wrought, 
The strong hand of God controls. 

Then we shall not despise 

Any common work that lies 

Nearest to our willing eyes. 



TILE VIGIL. 

I am watching in the midnight, 

By a little cradle bed, 
Where, upon its snow}- pillow, 

Rests a sleeping golden head. 

Bleak are the winds of winter, 
That come shrieking at the door, 

That come shaking at the casement, 
That come sighing o'er the floor. 



168 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And the old clock in the corner 
Seems beating like a drum, 

And the embers crackle crisply, 
And the shadows go and come. 

Oh, how solemn is the stillness 

That pervades the darkened room! 

While my own heart's muffled beating,. 
Adds a terror to the gloom! 

And I sit and count its throbbings, 
By the little cradle bed, 
Where, upon its snowy pillow, r- 

Rests a little golden head. 

Rests in its silent slumber, 

So very long, and deep, 
That, as I sit and watch it, 

I can only weep, and weep; 

For the violet eyes now shaded — 
The waves of golden hair, 

For the dainty hands and dimpled, 
For the baby, passing fair, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 169 

Who lies before me sleeping, 

So like the sleep of Death, 
That I bend down every moment, 

To listen for its breath. 

Oh, the solemn, solemn vigil, 

In the midnight dark and wild, 
By the snowy, swaying cradle 

Of a little sinless child! 

Through the sadness and the terror, 

Breaks one thought of warmth and cheer: 

God, who gave the solemn vigil, 
Keeps it with me — He is here. 



SHIPWRECK. 

I stand on a desolate coast, 

There 's a storm abroad on the deep, 
Each wave is a sheeted ghost, 

And as madly onward they sweep, 
They fright each other, until 

The night is white with their sweep. 



170 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

I watch on a desolate coast; 



For out on this black, raging sea, 
Three children, the life of my life, 

Are floating, to death or to me — 
To my warm, loving arms, or to death — 

On this desolate, desolate sea. 

Would God I were with them afloat! 

It were surely a happier fate, 
'Mid the blackness of breakers that whelm 

To stand, than thus to await 
On the shore, the terrible stroke 

That gives the staunch ship to her Tate. 

Oh sea! that doth threaten and strike, 
Oh storm! that in madness doth roar, 

Can God be abroad in your wrath? 
He smiles in the flowers on the shore, 

But oh! can he threaten and strike, 
In your terrible rumble and roar? 



A bark is driving on the beach! 

I hear the cry of shuddering souls— 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 171 

The long, long helpless, hopeless cry, 
That long as ocean roars and rolls 

Will fill and thrill my being still — 

The weird, wild shrieks of shipwrecked souls. 

THE HOMELESS CHILDREN. 

My darlings are safe in slumber, 

In their dainty, white-frilled bed, 
And in close and loving contact 

Lie a brown and a golden head. 
I have left them there with kisses, 

I have heard their evening prayer, 
And through all the long night-watches, 

They will feel a sense of care. 

And now as I watch in silence, 

I think of the bleak cold storm, 
And how little we heed its terrors, 

Sheltered, and close, and warm; 
And I think of the little children 

Homeless on such a night, 
Who wander abroad in the darkness, 

And perish with cold and fright. 



172 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Helpless and homeless wanderers, 

Now begging at alien doors, 
Then striving to sleep, in sorrow, 

Upon cold and snowy floors. 
Oh, little, homeless children, 

In all this wide, wide earth, 
There is nothing half so pitiful 

As the hour that gives you birth. 

I sit alone in the firelight, 

And shudder at every gust, 
And question this innocent suffering 

If it be either right or just. 
Man seems so helpless to cure it — 

It is wide as the boundless earth; 
It grows to seem a horrible thing 

To give a weak mortal birth. 

Are the children less than the ravens, 
That He heedeth not their cry? 

Are they less than the tiny sparrows, 
That flutter, and wheel, and die? 

Oh, Christ, who lovest the children, 
Through this night I cry to Thee, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 173 

That Thou wilt call through the darkness, 
"Let the little ones come to Me." 

There is room in the fair green pastures, 

For their little aching feet, 
And beside the soft still waters 

There's a calm and cool retreat; 
And there no helpless children, 

.Need sick and sorrowing roam, 
But find in the many mansions — 

Poor homeless hearts — a home. 



DEATHLESS. 

Think not from earth we wholly die, 
When Death, the ferryman sublime, 

Has dropped his oars, and we have gained 
That shore across the stream of time, 

In the slow-throbbing human heart, 

Our deeds, and thoughts, and tears live still, 

And every act hath left its mark 
Upon the world for good or ill. 



174 APPLE -BLOSSOMS. 



THE MISSAL OF LIFE. 

In the calm of this holy eve, love, 

Apart from the world's dull strife, 
Let us sit and turn over the pages 

Of th' illumined missal of life. 
Let us gaze on its glowing tints, love, 

The leaves we have turned review, 
And seeing its glorious hues again, 

Fall in love with life anew. 

We have turned some somber leaves, love, 

And a few that were black as doom. 
But most have had dashes of sunny hue 

To light up the margin's gloom. 
And in turning the leaves aback, dear, 

These linger not in our sight; 
We will hasten over the somber and brown, 

And pause at the gold and white. 

We shall find the first of the leaves, love, 

As pale as the stainless snow; 
Then pearly and pink, like the delicate tints 

That in sea-shells glisten and glow; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 175 

But soon, as we hasten on, dear, 

The colors deepen and flush, 
Till a chorus of joyous hues bursts forth, 

As harmony fills a hush. 

We shall linger long o'er the leaves, dear, 

Where the sunset colors of love, 
Shine brighter than all the hues that glow 

In the gorgeous heavens above. 
Our eyes will feast on the glowing leaves, 

Fretted with white sea-spray, 
Like the tints of a thousand tropic flowers 

Condensed in one flame-like ray. 

And the leaves will be beautiful still, dear, 

As we pass still further along, 
Although the colors grow more subdued, 

And less like a reveler's song. 
The red and radiant rays of youth, 

Were sweet for a time to behold, 
But when calmer the heart and cooler the pulse, 

We turn to the green and gold. 

And a leaf comes now and then, dear, 
As the aims of life expand, 



176 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And the soul grows stronger, brilliant- hued, 

Imperial-hued and grand. 
Oh, fairer than white and gold, love, 

With which it once was rife, 
And grander than scarlet sheen, love, 

Are the purple leaves of life. 

We are just half through the book, dear;, 

And now, amid life's calms, 
We are glad to change the hues of songs 

For the softer tints of psalms. 
But while we are turning the leaves, dear — 

The leaves of the coming years, 
We will sometimes pause to look back and see 

How the Beautiful Past appears. 



DIVIDED. 

Soft and white the moonlight lay, 
On clover-field and fragrant hay; 

On orchard trees and hedges white, 

And farm-house sleeping through the night; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 177 

On the banks of roses white and red. 
On high well-sweep and mossy shed; 

On the tall rail fences in and out, 
And meadow brook as it wound about; 

White and soft, on river and hill, 
White and soft on road and mill. 

Never such moonlight was before, 
Thought the pair at the cottage door. 

Never such love as theirs before, 
Thought the pair at the cottage door. 

He with his form so straight and tall, 
Splendid as Adam before the fall. 

She with her timid and childish grace, 
And hid in ringlets the rosy face. 

He with the eye so dark and keen, 
And bearing so lofty and serene. 

She with her coy and tender eyes, 
Blue as the depths of summer skies. 
12 



1 78 A PPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

'T is a scene of parting at the door, 
For a little season, and no more — 

"For soon I shall come to claim my May 
To gladden the cottage far away. 

" God keep you, love, from ill and pain, 
And bring us together soon again." 

And then such tears as ever have flowed 
Since the test of parting was bestowed. 

But nothing noted the moonlight still 
Resting on river, and road, and mill. 



Twice ten times had the full red moon 
Shone o'er the fragrant fields of June; 

Twice ten times had the autumn rains 
Spent their dashings against the panes; 

Twice ten times had December snows 
Wrapped the land in their white repose: 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 179 

And still the maiden, as of yore, 
Went out and in at the cottage door; 

Still she walked in her quiet ways, 
And added the weary days to days; 

Still she opened her eyes at dawn, 

With the thought of the lover who had gone — 

Gone that eve from the cottage door, 
For a little season, and no more; 

Still when she knelt at night to pray, 
She plead for the lover far away; 

Still she saw in her deepest dream, 

His dark eyes glow with the old love-beam; 

Still she heard in each evening breeze 
His tender whisper among the trees; 

Still in her heart his image kept, 
When she wakened and when she slept; 

Still watched at evening adown the lane, 
And dreamed that her lover would come again, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Young she is not now, nor fair, 

But weary woman with work-day air. 

And all the friends of her youth are fled, 
Some are married, and some are dead. 

And no old faces bless ner gaze, 
Out and in on her weary ways. 

No tender voices whisper low, 

In the hush of eve, of the long ago. 

No gentle hand, with its warm caress, 
E'er touches tier's with its power to bless. 

No one whispers, " Once you were fair, 
With your bonny eyes and sunny hair; 

That I loved you once I ne'er forget," 
And lower still — " I love you yet." 

But she does each day her wonted task, 
And for other solace has ceased to ask. 

And thus she climbs the rounds of the years, 
And far at the top her reward appears. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 181 

And sure worse fates than this have been — 
To keep one's faith so calm and serene, 

Through life's dull changes in and out, 
Always to love and never to doubt. 

A happier lot, though dull and poor, 
And never rising from the obscure, 

Than her lover's fate, though worldly fame 
Hovers over his path like flame, 

And high 'mid the councils of the wise 
He sits; the envy of many eyes. 

For when he yielded his manly truth, 
And sacrificed the dream of his youth, 

Though he gained wealth and high renown, 
In his own soul his worth went down. 

And never again, howe'er he might rise, 
Could regain his value in his own eyes. 

For when he gave up the love of his youth, 
He gave up also his being's truth. 



182 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And never after had he the power 
To love or trust, as before that hour. 

Oh, better the heart that is won and left, 
And of every sweet life-hope bereft, 

Than the heart of him who thus can prove 
False to himself, and false to his love, — 

Who feels his falseness, and carries about, 
For his only comrade, the demon Doubt. 

A WOMAN'S EYES. * 

'Mid the purple isles of the Indian sea, 

A wonderful mountain reared its head, 
And so magnetic 'twas said to be, 

That the sailors looked on its base with dread; 
And many the wondrous tales they would tell, 

Of how it would draw the bolts and bars 
From the staunchest ship, with its sorcerer's spell, 

And cast it afloat, but sails and spars. 

And they say that a maiden dwelt near by, 
On another isle in this Indian sea, 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. \i 

Who had seen the ships like sea-gulls fly 
Against this mountain of treachery, 

To be severed and sundered wide apart, — 
Till deep within her a horror grew, 

That struck to the core of her very heart, 
Lest some sad day the ship and the crew 

To her heart most dear, should fall a prey 

To this terrible mountain dark and grim, 
And that it would steal her lover away 

At the very hour she awaited him. 
And so deep the feeling of horror grew, 

That she sat by day, and sat by night, 
Gazing up at the mountain dark and blue, 

And down to the sea at its base so white. 

And one bright day the good ship came 

Sailing up to these Indian isles — 
Right toward the mount, with its crest of flame, 

Which beckoned it with sorcerer's wiles. 
And the maiden's heart grew faint with w T oe 

As with anguished eyes she watched the ship, 
Sailing on, in the evening's crimson glow, 

Into the mountain's fatal grip. 



184 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But the maiden's eyes, so dark and deep, 

Such a counter sorcery seemed to work, 
That the ship swayed back with majestic sweep, 

And lay at her feet in the evening murk. 
And the lover clasped the maid in his arms, 

While the angry mountain leapt in flame, 
And evermore lost its evil charms, 

And lost in time its evil fame. 

'Tis a very fable, as some may say, 

But I, dear love, can well believe, 
When I look in your face this happy day, 

And feel to my own your soft lips cleave, 
That a woman's eyes could do all this — 

Yea, do, dear love, much more by far, 
For the sorcery of your look and kiss 

Might draw a soul from the farthest star! 

PHANTOMS. 

Beside a haunted hearthstone 

My midnight watch I keep, 
While the seams within the walls are keys 

O'er which wind fingers sweep. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 185 

And hoarsely round my oaken chair 

The wild, weird music floats, 
While the tones of phantom singers 

Seem mingling' with its notes. 

In the background lie dark corners, 

O'er which no firelight plays, 
And phantom forms are flitting, 

In the dim and shadowy haze. 

There are guests within this mansion, 
And they love this antique room; 

I am ne'er alone, nor lonely, 
For these phantoms ever come, 

When I sit beside this hearthstone, 

And through the gloaming call, 
They come to keep me company, 

From carved niche and wall. 

And they cluster round the paintings 

Of the fair and courtly dames, 
Whose proud eyes flash with glances, 

Bright as the dancing flames. 



186 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

And they linger near a harpsichord, 
Where phantom fingers play 

O'er the chords, and in the night-wind 
I seem to hear the lay. 

Oh, weird and shadowy phantoms 
From memory's storm-swept coasts, 

Few guests there are whose presence 
Brings calm like yours, my ghosts. 



FATE. 

Will my days be long in the land? 

Will my cup forever run o'er? 
In the Equatorial Calms of life, 

Shall I always lie near a spicy shore? 
Will the winds breathe ever pomegranate and musk, 

And the flowers of the orange sift in at the door? 

Will the music of silver flutes 

Flood the moonlight forever and aye? 

Will the lapsing waters lull me to sleep, 
So softly, so sweetly, by and by? 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 187 

Will the thrill, and glamour, and sparkle of life, 
Linger and last with me till I shall die? 

Will my days be few in the land? 

Shall I lie in the Calms no more? 
Will the Equinoctial storms of life 

Drive me on a dangerous, rocky shore? 
Shall I lie with canvas tattered and rent, 

And under rent rigging my wreck deplore? 

Will darkness cover me o'er, 

And iceberg and frost assail? 
Will the waters leap through my broken keel, 

And the crested wave and the tempest prevail? 
Shall I sink in sight of the frowning shore, 

Or be rescued at last by a passing sail? 

Answer me, terrible Fate! 

I would know of thee what is my dower. 
The dread, the terror, of possible ill 

Encompass me, and I crouch and cower. 
God has naught in his hand, so cruel and grim 

As the Dread that holds me in its power. 



188 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



IBMA'S FATE. 



Why thou art set apart from me, beloved, 
Why lie the seas between us, and the land, 

Why through the wilds of all life's mountain passes 
We walk alone, I cannot understand. 

For thou wert mine, and I was thine, beloved, 
In the far depths of being soul met soul; 

Yet some light threads of circumstance and seeming 
Have made whole ocean depths between us roll.- 

And nevermore, through time and change, beloved, 

Can we two meet together, heart to heart, 
But like two stars within their separate orbits 
Must we two move — together, yet apart. 

And none shall know thee as I know, beloved, 
Through all the wide and varied world of men; 

None claim such spirit kinship with thy being, 
All find one side thy life beyond their ken. 

And I as much alone shall walk, beloved, 

Up the dim Alpine heights of life, where gleams 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 189 

The after-glow of feelings which have faded, 
And passed into the doubtful world of dreams. 

And all that we shall know each of the other, 

Will be those glimpses — dim, but rich and deep — 

Which we may catch on starry nights and stilly, 
Within the misty silent halls of sleep. 

But oh, in what stern mood grim and unloving, 
Sat Fate, when thus apart, by sea, by land, 

She stretched our lines of life till death unite them, 
I cry in grief, I cannot understand. 

THE PHANTOM BATTLE OF UTRECHT. 

In the streets of the ancient city, 

Some hundred years ago, 
A band of burghers, staunch and strong, 

Were walking to and fro. 

Talking of all the troubles dire 

That had come upon the land; 
Of death by fire and death by sword, 

Neath Philip's iron hand; 



190 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Recalling all their ancient rights, 

In tones beneath the breath; 
For complaint brought — the Inquisition, 

And the Inquisition — death! 

Oh, sad and heavy were their hearts, 

For home and Fatherland; 
For cities sacked, and people slain, 

By Alva's cruel band. 

And sense of dread foreboding then 

Filled hearts.of stoutest men, 
As the silent streets they paced, 

When the clocks were striking ten. 

Then all at once around them, there 

Rose a united cry, 
From groups of men, through all the streets- 

" The sky ! the sky ! the sky ! " 

And every eye was turned above, 
Where, seen through smoke and fire, 

A deadly battle fiercely raged, 
Of demons wild with ire. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 191 

Contending hosts were marshaled there, 

In battle's dread array, 
And fighting 'mid the solemn stars, 

In furious affray. 

Fiercer and fiercer rolled the tide 

Of battle through the sky, 
And flame and blood trailed o'er the clouds 

Rent by artillery. 

Oh, never was such fearful sight 

Since planets whirled in space! 
Each man fell down upon the ground, 

And hid his ghastly face. 

While through the shadowy streets arose 

A cry so weird and wild, 
That every mother in her sleep, 

Hugged closer to her child. 

"The world is ending! " rose the shout; 
And to the hills away 
"Were carried the wild shrieks of men — 
" Behold the Judgment Day!" 



192 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

But as they gazed, the fires burned out; 

The phantoms stacked their arms; 
The crimson tide of blood rolled back, 

And hushed their wild alarms. 

And soon, within the solemn sky 
Shone but God's steadfast stars, 

Orion with his golden belt, 
And red and radiant Mars. 

And men who shrieked in wild alarm 
At the new dread wonders there, 

Smiled to behold the trailing- lengths 
Of Berenice's hair. 

But all night long throughout the streets, 
Were heard the sobs and cries 

Of men, who told the awful tale 
Of the Battle in the Skies. 

And, says the ancient chronicler, 

Not many years had fled, 
Ere the same fight was fought below 

That raged that night o'erhead. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 198 

Within the city's moated walls 

Such deadly war was waged, 
That few were left to tell the tale 

Of how the battle raged. 

But some old men lived long to tell, 

To wide and wondering eyes, 
Of how the battle first was fought — 

To warn them — in the skies. 

Oh, dim and misty is the thought, 

But still a hint of fact 
May lurk within it, that the dream 

Still goes before the act; 

That all events are pictured first 

Upon man's teeming brain, 
Ere they take shape in outward deed, 

But rarely are made plain, 

To the dull eyes that look without, 

Yet at far distant dates, 

A light may flash upon the soul 

The Future's dim estates. 
13 



194 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



MEMORY'S BELLS. 

When sunset flushes all the sky 
With purple glories, heavenly fair, 

And from each spire and minaret 
There falls the sunset call to prayer, 

We bend our heads with reverent hearts, 
While on the evening air there swells, 

With music we alone can hear, 

The softened chimes of Memory's bells. 

And then we breathe the sacred air 

Which floats from unseen censers, swung 

By watchful phantoms, who keep guard 
Where Memory's pearly gate is hung. 

Over the mystic bridge which spans 
The gulf between the Now and Then, 

Our footsteps hurry, till we stand 
In childhood's consecrated glen. 

Then quickly through the years we glide — 
The years so bright, the years so far — 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 195 

Until life's constellation forms 
Each year a golden, glowing star. 

O Memory, thou dost crown our lives! 
The dark and dull thou dost efface, . 
And leave us but the softened glow 
That lights each old familiar face. 

Oh, must we, when we cease to tread 
The paths by human footsteps trod, 

Forget the way that led us up 

To the pure dwelling of our God? 

Or shall we hear in the loud chant 
Of morning stars, that ever swells 

Through the Eternal City's street, 

The softened chime of Memory's bells? 



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